Make It Out To Kate
by Liv Wilder
Summary: Set during 4x01: "Rise", immediately after the swing scene. Kate is shocked by how much seeing Castle again affects her. She can't get him out of her head. "So…what? I just wait? Behave like old times? Let things crawl on like before, with neither of us admitting what we really want?"
1. Chapter 1 - Startling Recognition

_A/N: This idea has been sitting on my hard drive for a while. I thought I'd share it and see if it's just my crazy brain or if it actually has some validity. _

_The story is set during "Rise", immediately following the swing scene. It's based on the premise that having not seen Castle for three months, Kate might have been more affected by that meeting than she appeared to be on the show. I'm assuming a couple of things. Firstly, she went to see Castle with the same plan and motivation as she exhibited in "Rise", only the after-effects of reconnecting with her partner were a whole lot more powerful than she expected. Secondly, for the purposes of this story, I've decided that she has already confessed to Dr. Burke that she heard Castle's proclamation of love in the cemetery and she's already experienced a few symptoms of PTSD._

_Here goes..._

* * *

_**Chapter 1: Startling Recognition**_

They part ways at the curb on the far side of the small city park, the swings still oscillating side-by-side in the distance like a pair of Siamese twins; _she_ heading up to Midtown for a session with Dr. Burke, and _he_ heading back to SoHo with the promise of another lonely evening on the sofa in front of the flickering companion that is his TV.

"So…uh…it was good to see you," she says, biting her lip, gaze skating nervously from his eyes to his lips before dropping to the floor.

She means every word, but the moment feels awkward. More awkward than turning up unannounced at his book signing had felt a couple of hours ago, with just the bleached skeleton of a plan to keep her company while she stood in line. So what to do now? Offer him her hand to shake, reach out and give him a friendly hug, kiss him on the cheek, or—

Castle makes the decision for her. A quick flash of a smile – eyes slightly less angry, the lines on his face minutely softened, maybe a shade less haunted than when she arrived – and then he's making for the subway on the corner of East 23rd and Broadway; determined, serious and far too grown-up for her liking.

Kate stands there on the sidewalk with foot traffic flowing all around her – an island in a sea of eight million people – watching as Castle descends the steep staircase into the earthy darkness of the subway station. She counts the seconds, waiting, holding her ground and her nerve just to see if he will turn around at the last minute, throw a little glance over his shoulder to seek her out, before the ground literally swallows him up.

She waits, but he doesn't turn round. Not once.

* * *

The tugging sensation persists in her chest all the way uptown. It's so strong, so real, that it has her worried that she's done some kind of damage to her scar; something unwitting but dangerous of which she has no recollection.

When she arrives at Dr. Burke's office, she checks in with the receptionist and then immediately excuses herself to visit the shared bathroom down the hall from her doctor's small suite of offices. Once inside she shrugs off her leather jacket, hanging it on the doorframe of an open stall, before lifting her dove grey t-shirt to check her scar in the wall-mounted mirror above the plain white basin.

The scar nestled between her breasts is undeniably still present – pink and puckered, but visibly undamaged on the outside at least. Her investigation offers no physical explanation for the strange torquing sensation she can feel in her chest. Except that this indescribable phenomenon, this phantom feeling refuses to leave. It's as if something, maybe even her own subconscious, is tricking her. Tricking her into imagining that she's confronting her scar for the very first time. She's puzzled and a little unnerved by what she fears is some kind of stress-induced reaction. It has been an emotionally arduous day. So it takes her a moment to figure out why she might possibly be feeling this way. And then it hits her. She's seeing her scar as she imagines Castle will see it when he looks at her for the first time. If he ever does. If she gives him that chance. If he even _wants_ that anymore.

She leans over the sink feeling strangely light-headed. This feeling, whatever it is, is a result of her own insecurity. She's afraid of being rejected with everything else going on; all that's hanging in the balance after her half-hearted attempt at a reconciliation.

God she's a mess.

She presses her hand flat to her chest, covering the valley between the soft swell of her breasts and then slowly she removes her hand, raising her eyes to examine herself in the mirror, just as she did in her hospital room all those weeks ago while her dad hovered anxiously outside.

There's a sudden knock on the bathroom door and she startles, dropping the hem of her t-shirt back in place, quickly flicking on the faucet with her other hand.

"Be right out," she yells over the sound of running water, when she recognizes the receptionist's voice calling to her through the swing door.

When she checks her father's watch she realizes that a whole seven or eight minutes have passed since she entered the bathroom, and she can't even account for the passage of time.

* * *

Her session is one of the weirdest yet. She's trying to be present in the room, because Carter Burke notices everything – every whim of her mood, curve of her shoulders, weight on her spine, the flicker of her eyes, set of her jaw, how carefully she holds herself when she's in pain and how upright she gets when she's having a day when she believes she's almost there.

So she's trying to be present, only she's not.

Dr. Burke is asking her about PTSD: listing any symptoms she may already have experienced and advising her of others she may have to confront at some point in the future. He's prepping her for a return to work, to active duty: days that won't involve her remaining a paper shuffling desk jockey for any longer than necessary. He's also preparing her for the steely focus and steady nerves required to re-qualify to carry her weapon. But throughout the session he has no idea that all Kate Beckett is thinking about is Richard Castle.

On a loop.

It's as if her brain has compartmentalized itself into two sections – the area required for the essential functions that come with simply living: breathing, blood circulation, large and fine motor skills, muscle movement and coordination. These functions occupy the smallest section of her brain right now, while the largest part is given over to the louder, more visceral, primitive task of recalling everything that is her partner. Her level of absorption is extreme. While Dr. Burke talks and she attempts to listen, her mind is being assaulted by a flood of memories – his unique smell, the sound of his voice, recalling, in minute detail, the exact plaid pattern on his shirt today, the fine hair on his tan forearms, the bare swathe of skin exposed by the open neck of his shirt, those neatly manicured fingernails, the cut and color and fit of his jeans, and his eyes. God, those eyes.

He's all she can think about.

* * *

"Kate?"

She hears her name being repeated like an echo in the cool, shady room. Only then does she realize that her psychiatrist has asked her a question that she's utterly failed to register.

"Mm?" she murmurs, raising her head to look at him.

"I asked if you're sleeping any better?"

Kate nods. "Right," she mumbles, buying herself a little time with the thoughtful head bob. But her distraction is clearly evident in her unfocussed vision, her evasive responses, and her complete lack of engagement in the back and forth they're supposed to be having.

"Kate, are you okay? Do you have something on your mind you'd rather be talking about?" the doctor asks, ever patient, never judgmental, always so unerringly calm no matter what she might share or confess.

Her eyes flicker up to look at the kindly doctor's face. She's got so good at evading people when they seek the truth from her, which is highly ironic, considering she spends her professional life constantly running down the truth from others. Lying to Castle has morphed from a wish for privacy and a little distance back in the day, when he constantly overstepped the boundaries of _"we just met and you want to know what now?"_ into something altogether more sinister. She's been keeping him dangling, letting him in just a little way, just enough that he stayed interested, maybe thought he had a chance, all so that she could get herself ready, take her time, make up her mind that this was what she really wanted before she made any kind of move, signal, sign or commitment. If a guy treated her like that, she'd have walked away long ago. So it's testament to Castle's character, his tenacity and his patience that he's hung around this long.

Patience. Well there's a trait she never thought she'd ascribe to the writer when they first met. But there it is – the man has the patience of stone. And there's one other thing she's been avoiding thinking about—

* * *

"Kate?"

The doctor prompts her again and she startles slightly, the tug back into the here and now disarming her enough in this safe environment that she finds herself being truthful for once.

"I'm sorry. I've been a little distracted," she confesses, giving Carter Burke an honest smile.

"Anything you'd like to talk about?" he offers, never pushing, just opening the door a crack for her.

"I—" Kate pauses, running her fingers through her hair, chewing her lip to quell the queasy excitement churning in her gut. "I saw Castle today," she admits, suddenly finding herself battling an unexpected smile, given how poorly her first meeting with the author went from the start.

"Oh."

The good doctor is genuinely surprised for once, but he barely misses a beat.

"And…it went well?" he asks, tilting his head at an interrogatory angle, studying Kate's face for clues all the while.

She takes a deep and surprisingly shaky breath before answering. Flashes of that afternoon's meeting come careening back to her like a flipbook animation; a show reel of images her brain streams as evidence of one kind and another – both good and bad.

"It ended better than it began," she offers truthfully.

"That's…good?"

Kate nods. "I think so. I…I mean I really hope so."

"And Mr. Castle, how was he? You haven't seen him in—"

"Three months," Kate confesses immediately, needing and yet not needing someone else's reaction to this startling fact. She already knows it's bad; the boys told her as much. She just wants someone unconnected to tell her exactly how bad on a scale of _mildly hurtful_ to _unforgiveable_.

She sees Castle's face again, as real as if he were sitting in front of her now, both undeniably handsome and unquestionably hurt. Her heart begins to race from a combination of excitement and panic. How could she have gone three months, _twelve whole weeks_, without setting eyes on him, without speaking to him, listening to the sound of his voice, looking into those kind, gentle, startlingly blue eyes and just…

_How?_

* * *

Burke's eyebrows shoot up to ripple the normally placid plane of his smooth-skinned, bald forehead at her three-month confession of absence. Kate catches his surprise before he manages to render his face a blank canvas once more.

"I know," she murmurs, kicking off her boots before drawing her feet up onto the chair, curling up in a ball and resting her chin on top of one knee. "I've…let him down badly."

"Did _he_ tell you that?"

Kate shakes her head no. "He walked away. At first he…he walked away. He's very angry with me…or—"

She pauses, circling her arm around the front of her knees, hugging herself tightly.

When she looks at Dr. Burke again her eyes are clearer, more determined in their understanding of what happened today. "He's hurting. _I_ hurt him…badly."

"Badly enough that there's no way back?"

Burke studies her carefully, hazel eyes gentle, assuming some self-justification or evasive brush-off is coming. Kate Beckett can be prickly and defensive when cornered or pushed he has learned over the past few weeks' in-depth sessions. So he's surprised by the honesty, the clarity he gets, and by the look on Kate's face when she answers.

"No," she looks down and then up again immediately, and when she does she's grinning. "No, I think we found a way to…he's coming back to the precinct. He's…yeah, he's going to work on my case with me."

Dr. Burke nods, chewing this information over.

"And…that seems to make you happy. Is that enough for you? For both of you?"

Kate replies more carefully, her joy quelled a little, more under control. "I think so. For now. I don't know," she adds uncertainly, after some further thought.

"I only ask because when we talked before about the day of your shooting, you told me Mr. Castle said something to you just before you lost consciousness. Do you remember what that was?"

Silence descends, until the ticking of a clock is the only sound to break the heavy, carpeted hush in the office.

"Kate?"

Kate nods, her fingers clutching at the arm of the chair, shame coloring her cheeks. "He told me that he loved me," she admits with quiet certitude, flicking a darting glance at the therapist's face.

It's taken her a long time to be able to acknowledge Castle's deathbed proclamation to herself, let alone out loud to another human being. Only Carter Burke isn't the human being she should be sharing this knowledge with, and that's something else she can admit to herself only now.

"Did you get a chance to bring up and maybe discuss that with him today?"

Dr. Burke's question is right on point, like a projection of her own private thoughts.

Kate lets her head drop forward. "No," she admits quietly, allowing her hair to swamp her face.

"Were you unable? Were there other people around perhaps?"

Dr. Burke is gently offering her a way out. But she knows she can't take it, not anymore.

"No. We were alone. I just—" She sighs, lowering her feet to the floor, sitting up straighter. "I went there today not knowing what I would be facing."

"So…you knew there was a good chance that he would be angry with you? That he might not even want to see you anymore?"

"You _knew_ that?" asks Kate, staring at her therapist in what could be construed as an accusatory manner.

"Kate," Dr. Burke begins softly.

"Why didn't you say something? Tell me to go to him, to—"

She flops back in the armchair, releasing a loud, exhausted exhale, letting her head loll back against the headrest in frustration. She knows this situation is no one's fault but her own, and as for pretending she didn't know Castle would at least be hurt by her silence…

* * *

She rocks forward restlessly when she finally speaks again. "I'm an idiot. And I don't blame you. I'm sorry if that's how that sounded. Of course I know that what I did was wrong. I need to take responsibility for that…make it up to him somehow. I just…I can't get him out of my head, you know?" she admits, a small watery smile accompanying these final words.

"Are you surprised by that, Kate?"

She lets her eyes roam the room, looking but not seeing, while she thinks about her answer. "I was excited to see him," she discloses, gnawing at her lower lip, her expression almost coy. "I missed him. Three months apart is…well, it's a long time for us."

So much goes unsaid in her statement, but she knows that Dr. Burke understands what she's saying even without the words.

"Did he look different to you? The same? How did he appear?"

Kate closes her eyes, taking herself back to that initial glimpse in the bookstore. She'd joined the line, her heart hammering, and then a couple of minutes later, with her courage and curiosity both egging the other on, she'd tipped to the left to peer down past the procession of (mostly) women lined up ahead of her to get a little foretaste of the joy she was sure was coming her way. But what she saw shocked her.

She frowns now at the memory. "He looked…_less_ somehow."

"Less? How so?"

"Mm, as if his essence, his _Castleness_ was gone."

"And how would you describe this...this Castle essence you expected to see?"

The question should infuriate her. It might have done in the past. But today, that Castle essence and her search for traces of it are the only things occupying her mind. Could she really have forgotten so much – how truly wonderful and vibrant a man he is – after just twelve weeks apart?

"He's like a child in a lot of ways – happy, fun, an optimist, full of mischief, curiosity and kindness," she explains, though she knows that none of these words alone, even strung together like some kind of character reference, do him any kind of justice.

"And you couldn't see those qualities in him today?"

Kate shakes her head. "He looked bored at best. His eyes were dull, his smile was…forced, like he was going through the motions."

"With you?"

"With everyone. Not just me."

"And what had you been expecting? Clearly not this."

Kate covers her face with her hands briefly and then runs them back through her hair. "As I said, I've been so stupid. Even after I saw how…how _defeated_ he looked, I still expected more," she admits, her cheeks coloring with a hint of blush at her confession.

"More in what way?" presses Dr. Burke.

"You know what I mean," Kate replies, her embarrassment getting the better of her. Because her expectations were unrealistic, selfish, conceited, even arrogant.

"Assume I don't," Dr. Burke counters calmly. "Why don't you explain what you were hoping to achieve by going to the book signing today?"

"Do I have to?"

"No. Of course not," replies Burke, closing his leather folder with a muffled thwack before reaching across his desk to retrieve his planner.

"I thought he'd be pleased to see me."

The words seem to dangle in midair, lit up in neon, when Kate finally gives up this secret shame. She releases a breath along with her admission, relief at having seized the opportunity that's just been presented to her before the session is over and she's left to decipher her troublesome thoughts alone.

Dr. Burke slowly looks up from his date book. "And he wasn't?"

Kate shakes her head. "He looked shocked, haunted. Surprised maybe. But not pleased. I asked him to sign my book, to make it out to Kate. He just stared at me at first. But the line was long and…he signed his name and handed back the book. That was it…over in seconds. Next, please."

"What did you do then?"

"I waited for him outside like some stage door groupie."

"You sound a little bitter. Bitter at not being treated better perhaps, welcomed with open arms? Made to feel special?"

"He's my _partner_," she replies reflexively, her indignation finally showing through.

"Do you think he still felt like _your_ partner? After three months of silence?"

Kate wearily shakes her head, knowing full well that the doctor has a valid point.

"Repairing your relationship is going to take time, Kate. It sounds to me as if you've made a good start today. But don't forget how reluctant you've been to address Mr. Castle's feelings towards you. Walk before you try to run. He's going to need time to adjust to having you back in his life, even if he still doesn't know that you're fully aware of his feelings."

"He thought I was still with Josh," she explains flatly. "All this time he thought—"

"And that bothers you? Do you know why?"

"Because I know how much it must have hurt, thinking I was with someone else, happy, and just couldn't be bothered to call…after everything."

"After he tried to save your life?"

"That's why he deserves better."

"Is that the only reason?"

Kate's gaze flickers up to meet the calm, measured eyes of her therapist. She knows that there is no point in hiding anything from him, anything she's managed to figure out at least.

"I can't stop thinking about him," she admits, flushed with pleasure and regret both.

"Did you expect to see him today after all that time and then be able to put your feelings back in that box we've talked about in the past?"

"I didn't expect to feel like this."

"Good or bad? Just answer off the top of your head."

"Like champagne and helium combined." Her face breaks into an uncontrollable smile. "I feel like I'm flying."

Dr. Burke unexpectedly smiles too, giving her a soft, sympathetic look.

"You think I'm pathetic, like some love struck school girl?"

"No. No, I think you cut yourself off from the one person who knows you better and cares for you more than anyone else in your life. And you did that at a time when you were at your most vulnerable. Just…take it easy, Kate. Trust your heart and you won't go far wrong. But understand that Mr. Castle may need time to adjust."

She looks fearful when she asks, "Are you saying you think his feelings towards me might have changed?"

"No. I'm saying you told me yourself that he's hurt. For you, seeing him again has been a revelation. A really good one by all accounts. You finally know what you want, if I'm reading the situation right. But for him, already aware of his feelings towards you, it may have been more like an unexpected splash of vinegar on an open wound."

Kate makes an unpleasant face, a grimace of horror. "So, what? I just wait again? Behave like old times? Let things crawl on like before, with neither of us admitting what we really want?"

"Before today even _you_ didn't seem clear on what you wanted from the relationship."

"No, I—"

Kate goes to protest, but she ends up letting the words of objection die before they can even draw breath. Maybe she knew in her heart of hearts. But she certainly didn't share those thoughts with anyone else, much less with the one man who needed to know.

"Yeah, well, maybe I just needed to be reminded how much was at stake," she concedes.

"And I'm glad you took that step. It was a brave move to reopen things with Mr. Castle in such a public setting."

"Or a cowardly one," counters Kate, arching an eyebrow. "He couldn't exactly walk out in the middle of a book signing," she points out to Burke when he offers her a questioning look. "And I figured there was less than a fifty percent chance he'd take my call if…" she shrugs, her point a moot one now.

"Nevertheless, you reached out. The worst is over. You seem to know what you want and you can begin to work towards repairing things with your partner. Now, our session is at an end for today. I'd like you to complete a little homework exercise for me, if you will."

* * *

Kate paces her apartment, stalking like a caged animal between her desk and the front door. Thoughts of Castle followed her all the way home. At times she felt as though he were sitting next to her in the crowded subway car; she imagined his thigh pressing up against hers, the faint trace of his cologne meeting her nostrils to drown out the warm, damp, earthy stench while she stood on the platform waiting for her train to arrive.

And now his phantom presence is here in her apartment, making her restless and antsy and…frustrated, which, while not exactly new, is one of the more pleasant sensations she's felt in a long time. Yearning means she is more than just alive; more than a broken mass of terrified blood, muscle and bone. Yearning means she knows what she wants after all this time.

A yellow legal pad sits at an angle on the edge of the desk, her pen cast aside in the middle of the page she's been staring at for the last hour. But where she should be working on an Intrusion Diary, recording the frequency and content of intrusive memories that have contributed to recent incidences of post-traumatic stress, she's been too distracted to sit down long enough to put pen to paper. In fact, the only thing she feels capable of writing at all are the words _Richard Castle_, over and over again until she fills up that blank page with her partner's name.

"_I did wait. Three months. You never called."_

"_Damn right I'm angry. I watched you die in that ambulance…"_

"_Josh help you with that?"_

Castle's string of angry barbs return to haunt her, and she shivers, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso. The look on his face, the hurt in his voice: neither of these are things she's used to seeing or hearing from him.

And then she hears herself.

"_I'm not gonna be able to have the kind of relationship that I want until that wall comes down. And it's not gonna happen 'til I put this thing to rest."_

Her stomach turns over when she remembers making that vague, nebulous promise to him - should he even choose to interpret it the way she meant it - and she's disgusted with herself. The man tried to take a bullet for her, and then he told her that he loved her as he tried to save her life. Two acts of courage that deserved recognition, not a denial followed by total abandonment. And now, after everything, does he not deserve more than to have a few opaque words of promise dangled in front of him to get him to stick around? After she cut him out of her life for three whole months and couldn't summon up the guts to call or even text until she needed the files he was holding on her mother's killer, until he looked useful enough to her again to warrant a second look.

Is that what she did today? Did she _use him_?

"_I know I'm not going to be able to be the kind of person that I want to be…"_

Is that really what it's going to take? To destroy the protective wall she formed around her heart to keep all the bad things in life out, she's going to have to solve her mother's murder? What about all the good things she's missing on the other side of that wall in the meantime? She knows she meant it when she explained it to Castle today, but now? Is she prepared to sit around watching the light dim in her partner's eyes, knowing how he feels about her, for months on end until she gets some justice for her mom? It's already been too long – a life on hold, half-lived, going through the motions as if completing some penance no one asked her to perform in the first place.

And what about her? What about what she wants too?

* * *

When she finally looks down at her desk, she finds that she has indeed scrawled Castle's name on the yellow, lined notepad. In fact it's the only thing she's managed to write in the past hour.

She can't get him out of her head, and the most terrifying thing of all is the realization that if she lets things go on as they are, she not only continues to lie to him, but she also lets the nameless, faceless evil that killed her mother and tried to kill her have control over her life. Over both their lives.

And then they win.

TBC...

* * *

_Love to hear your thoughts._


	2. Chapter 2 - The Luxury of Time

_A/N: Thank you all for the lovely reception you gave this new story. I'm glad me and my crazy brain are not alone. _

* * *

**Chapter 2: The Luxury of Time**

"_Beckett?_"

It's after ten when he opens the front door, a look of total surprise showing up on his face like a long lost friend. Surprise, mostly because nothing has moved him or managed to jolt him out of his robotic fog for weeks. Until today that is, when _she_ showed up and caught him completely unawares.

"_Kate. You can make it out to Kate."_

These, then, were the first words he heard from her in three long months. So, yeah, he's surprised all right.

The emotion flies freely through the open gap in the door. It's there in the tenor of his voice when he says her name and the half-terrified look in his eyes when they lock with hers. Surprise that she should be here at all after today, that she should show up at the loft tonight, when his step is finally a little lighter, his heart fuller, the tension in his back and shoulders eased a little, after he threw himself into cooking a meal from scratch for the first time in weeks, no matter that he would still be dining alone.

He has a dish towel thrown over one shoulder, the hummed notes of a Lady Gaga song dying on his lips, and he looks down at her shoes. They're heels, electric blue. Suede he thinks.

"What are you doing here?" He can't help the inelegant question that immediately follows her name. He wants to know. He really wants to know.

Kate frowns, and he watches her body hint at some inner indecision with a rock back on her heels and a half-pivot towards the elevator whose doors are just sliding silently closed as if in collusion with their master, cutting off her escape route.

Castle reaches out before she can think to bolt, fingers lightly brushing thin air next to her elbow and then just as quickly withdrawing. "Hey…come in. Sorry, Beckett. Come in," he adds, intrigued, stepping back to allow her entry to his home; a place he had all but lost hope of ever seeing her again.

* * *

He looks even better than she remembers. Just a few hours since she last saw him and the change is already there, evident, already showing through. It's subtle, but there's a definite difference in him. His posture is transformed: more upright and less burdened. And his face. His face seems brighter, lines smoothed out, his features less pinched by the burden of having to tell her that he's still angry with her, lest he lose his self-respect completely. He hates having to be the bad guy, especially with her, she knows. It would be easy to take advantage of a man like that; such a forgiving man. She's already worried that she has – taken advantage of him, of his good nature, his kind and generous heart.

He looks so perfect standing there, even better than she remembers, and it sends a shiver racing down her spine and spreading out across her skin to think that she might have let this go. All because of fear.

* * *

_Twice in one day_, are the words that begin running on a loop inside Castle's brain as he closes the front door and turns to follow Kate to the middle of the living room floor. He doesn't see her for three whole months, and then twice in one day. So, yeah, he's intrigued all right.

"What…uh? _Kate?_" he asks, his mouth dry, head cocked to one side as he waits for her to explain the reason for her visit, and at this time of night no less.

She turns to face him, her eyes full with some emotion he's unfamiliar with, and suddenly his heart begins to ache uncomfortably in his chest. Seeing her again so soon after this afternoon is almost too much. He wanted more time. After today. He needed more time to live with, to enjoy, to wrap himself up in and just savor the heck out of his new selection of fantasies. Fantasies where things worked out and all would be okay, dreams where she thought of _him_ during her months of exile, now that he knows Josh was out of the picture; even if these fictions are just constructs of his lovelorn, desirous, whimsical imagination.

But his heart also aches for all the things that her arrival here tonight could signify – the good, the bad and the downright terrifying. Because Kate Beckett does nothing by random happenchance. She doesn't just show up at peoples' doors to say hi and shoot the breeze or borrow a cup of sugar. No. She plans, she chews things over and only then does she act. Her presence here has weight, only he doesn't know what kind yet.

"Is everything okay?" he asks, when he can't stand the thoughts running riot inside his own head any longer and decides to banish them with the sound of words coming out of his mouth, dull though they may be.

She looks on edge, uncomfortable, torn in two by doing battle with the conflicting emotions that have obviously driven her to his door at this hour. She also looks devastatingly beautiful, still dressed in the jeans and leather jacket she wore to his book signing today, her light grey t-shirt hanging a little on her too slight frame. She is hard outer and soft inner, like a Faberge egg with a velvet interior, or maybe an iron fist inside a velvet glove if he's reading her wrong. Tonight, no matter how hard he looks, he can't tell the difference.

It's almost too much to bear, and then she speaks, and suddenly too much becomes frightening, really, really fast.

"We can't do this anymore, Castle. I…I've tried but—"

Kate takes a shuddering breath and then she blows it out slowly, steadying her nerves. "Today…I made a stupid mistake."

* * *

Ice water floods in through the ventricles of Castle's heart and he feels physically sick, all the joy and the hope of their talk on the swings, subtext-laden though it may have been, swirling away down a metaphorical drain at the end of a cold, metal autopsy table.

Is this what it has come to? Him spouting morgue-themed imagery to himself? Her looking about as far from hard-shelled as he's ever seen her? Have they reached breaking point? Finally.

Castle has to ignore his thundering heart and roiling stomach just long enough to speak once more. He needs to get to the bottom of this, one way or another. Her opener is just that – far too open to misinterpretation, conclusion jumping and panic, quite frankly, given the look of fear and devastation on her face.

"Sit. Here. Sit down. You want a drink or something? Water, maybe? Scotch or that…that _disgusting_ blue stuff my mother drinks?"

Kate shakes her head but she sits as he suggests, her hands clasped on top of her knees, looking anything but comfortable. In fact, she looks as if she's been summoned to the Principal's office. And boy does he know what that looks _and_ feels like. He spent enough time there as a kid. Should have had his own chair out in that corridor too.

Thoughts of the precinct, his chair standing sentry next to her desk – at least it was last time he was allowed in – and of their partnership, all burn him, and he rubs both hands down over his face before snatching the dish towel off his shoulder and tossing it onto a nearby chair.

* * *

Kate, meanwhile, looks around the loft with a hesitant flicker of her eyes. It has been months since she's been inside his home, and yet nothing looks different or even changed at all, despite the vast, radical shifts that have taken place in her own life since her Captain and mentor was murdered and since she, herself, was shot in the chest and left the earth for a brief moment in time. Yet here, in her partner's elegant home, nothing has changed. It's still an island of calm in a frenetic city. And yet the loft is so much more than that. It has always been a safe haven to her. So much like the man who owns this place, she thinks, letting her gaze trail over the tall, reassuring form of her partner who is standing a couple of feet away, regarding her with tight-lipped, white faced alarm.

Waiting. Always waiting.

Kate smooths her hands out along her thighs, while trying to dispel the sudden tightening in her chest: that same phantom pain resurfacing at yet another moment of stress. She breathes through her nose until the sharp, torquing sensation passes. Her palms are damp and clammy, but the dark denim absorbs the moisture instantly, wicking it away. Dr. Burke said to take it easy, to go slow, give Castle time to adjust. But he also said _"trust your heart"_, and if she believes she can still count on knowing what's in Castle's heart…

"I—I've been thinking things over…_walking_ actually, and thinking a lot about everything since we talked earlier and—"

Seeing him today definitely derailed her plans - the vague plan she showed up with anyway. That much is clear to her hours later. She executed it as best she could, given his initial cold response, and then they parted ways with something of a détente, with a little of 'them' restored. Only she hadn't been as prepared as she thought she was to see him - for how much it would affect her - and since they left one another on that corner, swings still shifting like metronomes in the background, she has been unable to get the sight of him out of her head. The sight of him, the sound of him, the…the _smell_ of him and what he does to her. How alive he makes her feel. How right. How whole. How happy.

Maybe absence does make the heart grow fonder, but this isn't anywhere close to being as simple or as trite or as ordinary as that.

She stood in line in that bookstore today for close to an hour, more than enough time to observe him. The change in him, the diminution was immediately apparent to Kate, as it would have been to anyone who knew him on anything more than a superficial level. He was like a bulb with the wattage dimmed, like a candle whose flame had gone out, leaving just a smoldering ember burning in the wick. The life and vitality she was used to seeing was all but extinguished: his frame bowed over that signing table, the vague murmurings to fans with that fake smile plastered on his face, a smile that never quite made it to his eyes; the complete lack of spark or enthusiasm. She did that. She robbed him of the essence of who he is. And yet, all she could see was _her guy_, her heart kicking hard against her ribs every time she dragged her eyes away and then took pleasure in allowing them to slide back to his face. A face she knows as well as the back of her own hand, a face she adores. A face she—

* * *

"_Wait_," interrupts Castle, stopping her, his hands held up to add weight to his interjection, his supplication. "Wait. I thought we settled things today? Okay, not exactly _settled_ but…something," he says, raking his fingers through his hair in agitation. "We had an agreement, Kate. I…I'm coming back to the Twelfth to work with you. To be your partner. We're going to find a way past Gates, you and I. We said—"

Kate shakes her head, drawing him up short. When she speaks, her words are quiet but powerful enough to silence him.

"This isn't about that."

He swallows. Winded by everything he fears is happening; by everything he hoped he'd secured, everything he thought she was offering, promising even, running away from him at breakneck speed. Like something precious tumbling into a storm drain before you can reach out and save it, he thinks he's watching it all disappear again.

"Then what?" he asks, the dry tightness in his voice betraying his anxiety.

"I told you I wasn't ready. On the swings. I told you I needed time."

"For your walls to come down, yeah. I heard you," he nods, desperately encouraging her to hear her own words again too, to stick with them and the promise of something sometime in the future that they seemed to him to be suggesting. Because if he got that message wrong, if he misinterpreted her meaning, or if she changes her mind now, it will crush him.

Three months apart, his anger nurtured like a living, breathing being created to protect his broken heart once the devastating, debilitating pain had turned to numbness as the weeks went on and the silence between them stretched and grew and his disappointment in her, the hurt she was causing him, turned to righteous anger. Anger he was going to use to fight his way through and eventually move on, get over her, walk away for good.

Until today.

But she scares him, this woman, with the power she has over his heart and his happiness, the control she unwittingly masters over the thoughts in his head and the level of his mood. He knows he should never have let anyone close enough to control him in such a manner again, not another woman, not after Kyra. And not like that: getting so close that you never want to be apart from them again. He went from seeing Kate Beckett almost every day, from completing her sentences and she his, from practically _reading_ her mind when it came to their cases at least, to nothing. In the flash of sunlight off a sniper's riflescope it was gone. All gone. She was lost to him.

But now she's here and she's asking him a question he doesn't quite understand. He gets the words, mostly hears them, relies on his brain to stitch them together into a coherent sentence, but they don't make any sense.

"What if I don't want to wait?"

Her eyes are dark and open, though her cheeks are flushed pink as if from discomfort or embarrassment of some kind.

"What?" He doesn't understand. _She_ was asking _him_ to wait…or at least he thought she was.

"Castle, what if I don't want to wait anymore? Hmm? What if I tell you everything, show you…_everything_, and we try to muddle through somehow. A work in progress. Not perfect. Just…a work in progress."

_TBC..._


	3. Chapter 3 - Roller Coaster Ride

_A/N: I'm thrilled by the response to this story so far. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed. Keep 'em coming. :)_

* * *

**Chapter 3: Roller Coaster Ride **

_Previously…_

_"What if I don't want to wait?"_

_Her eyes are dark and open, though her cheeks are flushed pink as if from discomfort or embarrassment of some kind._

_"What?" He doesn't understand. **She** was asking **him** to wait…or at least he thought she was._

_"Castle, what if I don't want to wait anymore? Hmm? What if I tell you everything, show you…everything, and we try to muddle through somehow. A work in progress. Not perfect. Just…a work in progress."_

* * *

Castle stalls, his heart in his mouth blocking the chance of any words coming out for several long seconds. Kate watches him struggle in silence, her eyes full with everything she knows she's still failing to say.

He blinks rapidly, swallows roughly and then shakes his head. "I—I'm sorry. Can we back up a little and just—"

He breaks off, turning in a tight circle, smoothing his hands down over the back of his head, tipping it forward and cupping his ears. He's restless and confused, agitated even, reeling from this roller coaster ride of a day. And it isn't over yet. He turns back to face Kate, catching the corner of the area rug with the heel of his shoe.

"I need to clarify a few points before we go any further because if I say the wrong thing here there is a _big _danger I'm going to make a complete fool of myself."

Kate licks her lips and Castle stares as her tongue flashes out - pink, soft and damp - and then retreats. He watches her throat bob as she swallows nervously. These are good signs, he hopes, if she's this nervous too. Unless…

"Ask me," she nods quietly, a flicker of a smile softening the lines around her mouth as she finally raises her eyes to meet his. "Ask me anything."

Castle's eyebrows shoot up at this unexpected invitation, this offer of openness and honesty. He's not used to propositions of this kind coming from her. Even today, as open as their conversation got, it was still veiled in subtext, disguised by Kate's overly careful use of language.

"_I won't be able to have the kind of relationship I want…"_

He pauses, frowning as if he's misunderstood. "Uh. You sure?"

Her smile widens, the strain on her face easing. "Castle, _ask_," she encourages, almost laughing now, though she has no idea where this sudden burst of confidence and levity has come from, only that this is what _he _usually does for _her_ – lightens things up. So she's going to attempt to do the same for him, if only to see a smile grace that serious face once more.

"Come on. Questions, curiosity, a total inability to keep quiet and not poke around…" she giggles, dipping her head bashfully when he surprises her with a quick wounded pout, "…they're _your_ thing."

"Yeah, but…you hate it when I ask you stuff. Personal stuff."

The guy has saved her life on more than one occasion, he's steadily fallen in love with her, and boy has she put him through the wringer. She's attempting to bear her soul tonight and he's worried about putting her on the spot?

"Castle, I _know_ you," she assures him sincerely. "I wouldn't have suggested it if I didn't already know what I was letting myself in for."

He feels an unexpected surge of excitement as he tries to unscramble his brain fast enough to formulate his first question while she's still declaring it open season. It's like being told that you can have absolutely anything you want for Christmas…when you're five. He just can't figure out what he wants.

"You're _really_ sure?" he checks once more, a genuine smile finally making his face come alive.

Kate rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. Her next response floors him.

"32B" is how she answers, offering up a personal statistic she's pretty sure he's wondered about for a very long time, if his frequent, lingering adoration of her chest is anything to go by.

"I'm—_excuse me_?" he splutters, eyes immediately darting down to stare at her breasts.

Kate laughs for certain this time, the glint in her eyes definitely mischievous. "You heard. I'm not repeating myself," she replies flirtatiously, recrossing her arms beneath her breasts, quite deliberately forcing them upwards to make her point in that thin grey t-shirt with the low vee cut in front.

Evil woman.

"Right. Right. Got it," he swallows, trying and failing not to stare at 'the girls' again, given the show she's putting on for him. "Eh…right, so—" he mumbles, nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

"Next question," she prompts, smirking as Castle attempts to drag his gaze back up to her face and focus.

He grins, eyes widening with the possibilities. "_Next—?_"

"Bobby Flynn, behind the science block. He was my neighbor. I was…almost thirteen. He was 15, star attacker on the lacrosse team."

Castle makes an unmanly choking sound and his eyes widen at the confessions tumbling out of his normally reserved partner's mouth.

"Just…first base," she adds, as a sort of reluctant afterthought, though he never even asked the question. "Gave me this weedy little bunch of flowers he picked from his mom's garden," she laughs, nodding at the memory. "First flowers and my first kiss all rolled into one fumbling, utterly forgettable afternoon."

"But…you still remember his name," Castle points out.

Kate shrugs. "It would be impolite not to. However, I'm pretty sure he's forgotten mine by now."

"What makes you say that?"

"He started dating my best friend a week later. They're married now. Two kids, dog, big house in Nyack." She raises her eyebrows in a kind of 'what can you do' expression.

* * *

Castle can't quite believe the information pouring out of her, the stories, in such contrast to their stilted meeting earlier today. He vaguely wonders about the water supply at her father's cabin, whether it contains some magical properties, like a truth serum for example. Maybe lead poisoning? Or perhaps she fell and bumped her head.

"You're…you're on a roll," he remarks, as she scans his face for a reaction, her hazel green eyes darting back and forth while she studies him. "Were there stop-offs at any _bars_ on this walk of yours?"

Beckett coughs. "_Excuse me?_ Are you accusing me of drinking…_alone_?" she laughs, her eyes shining with so much joy at being able to find a way to do _this_ with him now. Finally.

She is amused by his question and his clear surprise at the information she's just thrown at him. He looks adorable, knocked off his stride by the last couple of minutes' worth of banter, and though she badly wants to tell him so, to tease him even more, she knows that it's too soon for that. Not the right time. She has something else she wants to say to him, so many things in fact, before the moment gets away from her or she loses her nerve.

"Actually…would you sit for a second?" she asks, toning things back down, now that they've reestablished their unique connection and something of their usual rapport.

She needed him to see that she's still in here, haunted and gaunt though she may look to him now. She needed him to get just a little taste of the old Kate, older than he's ever seen or known. Kate from the time before her mother's death, Kate who last existed in a college dorm in California. She needed him to see _that_ Kate before he completely lost hope. But now she needs to pull focus again, to get back to the serious matter at hand.

"I…look, we really do have to talk. If you have time, that is?"

Castle frowns. "Time?" Since when has he not _had_ time or _made_ time for her?

"No plans, I mean. I know I just kind of landed on you…well, twice in one day in fact, if you count showing up at your signing out of the blue, and then just turning up at your door tonight," she rambles nervously, as she watches Castle eye her warily.

"Mother and Alexis are out. So, yes, we can talk. And you know you're always welcome here, Beckett," Castle assures her, never not polite and accommodating, despite how she might have treated him before today.

A stab of guilt shoots through her and she reacts instantly.

"Castle, can we just cut the polite crap? Please?"

The writer looks slightly taken aback by this brusque, no nonsense request. He feels as if he's on a seesaw tonight, the mood and the temperature in the room changing constantly, throwing him off-balance.

"I'm sorry. But this is important and if I don't say it now I might loose my nerve, so would you _please_ just sit down?"

The serious look on Kate's face is unnerving him. He doesn't even know how things might go wrong at this point. He's confused, oscillating between too hopeful and the darkest anticipation of impending disaster.

"Actually, I think I'd rather stand, if it's all the same to you."

He needs to retain some kind of control. Falling back under Kate Beckett's spell would be just too damned easy. She tossed her jacket on the arm of the sofa right before she told him her bra size. Her shirt is paper-thin cotton the color of turtledoves, hair is tumbling down around her shoulders, framing the stark elegance of her neck and collarbones with soft, dark curls, and he yearns to reach out and touch it; to wrap a single plump, glossy curl around his finger and tug until it bounces back like a spring. He misses her in a way that should be impossible, considering he never actually had her in the first place. So he's fighting for a little shred of control, listening to the sensible part of his brain telling him to be smart, not to let this beautiful creature lure him onto the rocks again.

Kate chews on her lip for a second and then she stands too. "Fine. Then I'll join you. At least that way I won't get a crick in my neck."

To say that he is scared right now would be the understatement of the year. But scared and maybe a little exhilarated would be a more accurate way of putting it, because if he's reading the situation right, looking at all of the evidence before him as his partner has drummed into him over their years together, then they might just be on the verge of something good, something better.

But if he's learned anything from Kate Beckett it's to expect the unexpected. She looked him right in the eye as she delivered the eulogy at Roy Montgomery's funeral and she told him and every other witness present that day that she had found the one person she wanted to stand with her in the battles of life. He knows he didn't misunderstand that look or misinterpret those words. But then she left, and he was forced to battle on alone.

So tonight, based on years of bittersweet experience of this extraordinary woman, he knows that things could still go either way.

* * *

"What is this about, Kate? I…I mean…well, I don't mean to sound—" He pauses, swallowing hesitantly before taking a breath. "If I'm being impatient or cold or unwelcoming it's because you've kind of—"

He digs his nails into his palms, any hope of suave confidence dissolving in the face of the anxious, tense look Kate is giving him back.

"Castle, after the last three months of…of silence on my part, I'm lucky you'll even give me the time of day. Don't think I don't know that."

"So…why are you here? Tonight?" he asks, glancing at the time on digital display above the stove. The little green colon dances on and off between the numbers that make up twenty-two and forty-seven, taunting him. The day is fast disappearing, and he's feeling a little like Cinderella as midnight approaches.

"As I said, after I left you today I did a lot of thinking. When I got back to my apartment…" she shrugs. "I couldn't settle. So I went out and I walked and I thought a lot about what you said and—"

"I seem to recall you doing most of the talking," he interjects, breaking her flow.

"Yeah," laughs Kate, quietly, glancing at her feet. "Makes a change," she adds, though not unkindly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Castle clenches his fists even tighter.

Then they look at one another – Castle unsure, his heart racing but lips tightly pressed together, Kate still slightly flushed with the effort she's having to make to share whatever's on her mind. To say you could cut the atmosphere with a knife is beyond true.

"I didn't tell you everything back there and I know how angry you are with me…"

She holds her hand up and dips her head again when he opens his mouth to interrupt, smoothing her palms down her jean-clad thighs. "Rightly so," she adds, to let him know that she understands what she's done, how wrong she was.

"You're right to be mad at me," she repeats for emphasis. "Just leaving town and shutting you out with no explanation and no…_nothing_ for weeks. But, Castle, I—what I said to you today…you deserve so much more than…than that half-formed, vague, lame excuse for a…a promise."

"I do?" he asks, not really asking as he looks down at the floor, toeing the rug back in place with the tip of his shoe.

"Of course you do. You're my partner and I abandoned you."

"I don't know what I deserve anymore," he mumbles, more to himself than anything, and the feeling of low self-worth he's exuding makes Kate's insides clench, makes her feel queasy and annoyed with herself.

He is worth so much more and she did this to him: knocked him back until she convinced him of his lack of value, his lack of importance to her.

"_More._ You deserve more from me than…than…whatever that was."

She can tell from his posture that he's trying not to show how interested he is in what she's trying, very poorly, to say, by the way he turns towards her and then swings his shoulders away again, eyes lowered like he can't even bear to look at her.

"I didn't even tell you that I missed you…today, for example," she explains, her voice suddenly quieter, but fully laden with the tenderness of her feelings. "And I should have. I really should have. Because I did, everyday."

"That's…nice," he whispers, hoarsely, his own voice pulled taut, his vocal cords suddenly not his own to use.

"_Nice?" _screams his inner voice. That's the best you can do? She's trying to open up here. Beckett, who almost never opens up.

Kate ignores his remark anyway. "Seeing you today was…well, it was a lot of things. Terrifying to begin with," she admits, the blush on her cheeks deepening, melting the last chips of ice inside his heart.

"Never thought I'd be able to scare Kate Beckett," Castle throws out for something to say, something humorous, because that's what he does, that's who he is.

"Scare—? Castle, you _terrify_ me sometimes," she admits with startling candor.

His head snaps up and he stares at her, eyes wide and mystified. "_I_ terrify _you_? _Why_?"

"You really don't know?" she asks, watching his face, trying to read every flicker and twitch of muscle, that intelligent, compassionate light behind his eyes, which is so much dimmer than she remembers.

He shakes his head in response. "Know what?" he asks, deadly serious.

Kate swallows audibly, sucking her lower lip into her mouth to damp her parched skin. She certainly has his full attention now. "Castle, you terrify me because…because I'm in love with you, and if anything I've done, any of the _stupid_ things I've done were to push you away for good…"

When she looks at him this time there are tears shining in her eyes. "If I lost you—" she croaks hoarsely, her voice cracking at the very thought.

She shakes her head and lets the thought hang in the air between them until she's composed enough to speak again.

"When you walked away from me today—"

He guesses she means outside the signing session at the bookstore, when he walked right past without acknowledging her presence, trying with all he had to ignore her, to escape the pain of seeing her again, the delicious ache the very sight of her set throbbing inside of him.

Kate clears her throat and pulls it together again. "I guess I naively thought it would be easier. That maybe you'd be pleased to see me. I was excited to see you. I know I have no right to expect you to just overlook my—"

She takes a breath, almost like a hiccup, and he watches as she presses her hand flat to the center of her chest. It's not a gesture he's ever seen her make before and it draws his attention.

"Look, I'm sorry. I was selfish. I was scared. But until you've been shot—"

* * *

Kate abruptly stops talking. Her last statement sounds far too self-serving. What, she should wish _him_ shot so that he can fully understand her pain? Castle and empathy have gone hand-in-hand for as long as she's known him. He doesn't need to experience something to be able to relate. _Her_ mother was murdered and yet _he_ is the one who's done more than anyone else to help bring those killers to justice. He gets it without asking or explaining. He just does. She needs to start treating him in a way that recognizes the beautiful, generous, innate drive for fairness that seems woven into his DNA. Life can be brutal. Richard Castle in your corner makes it sting a whole lot less.

"I'm sorry that was wrong of me," she apologizes, waiting until Castle offers the slightest nod of acceptance before she continues. "I just had no idea how getting shot would affect me. You train to be a cop you think someday it will be your turn. You expect it and you think you already know how you'll deal with it. Turns out I had no goddamn idea," she explains, angrily tucking her hair behind her ears.

"We've been over all of this, Kate," Castle says quietly, deflating her fervor with his gentle nonchalance, as if they exchange truths like this everyday.

Kate stands up straighter, her spine stiffening. The ache in her chest is back to haunt her again. "Did you hear me? I'm saying that I love you and that scares the hell out of me, Castle. Not the loving, with you that's easy…now…somehow," she shrugs, one-shouldered.

Castle stands as still as a statue, heart pumping dangerously within the walls of his chest. "Then what?"

She cradles her hand below her heart again, her fingers curled inward protectively. "The losing. The losing is what scares me, and so help me—"

"_Then don't!_"

Castle's words stop her flow dead. Like a slap, they wind her.

Kate shakes her head, as if she doesn't understand. "Don't? Don't what? _Try?_" she asks, looking panicked and horrified.

"No. Don't lose me…_this_…whatever," he says, waving a hand between them. "Don't make me wait until you're your own vision of perfect, Kate. Newsflash – no one is perfect, least of all me, okay. So, you need to get that idea out of your head or I will let you down time and again."

"That's the problem. You've never let me down. Not when I needed you. Never. And I—"

"You are who you are, Kate. We all are. There's no such thing as perfect. Not perfect timing, not perfect people."

"Look, I think we're saying the same thing here," she says, hoping he remembers how this all began with her desire not to wait anymore.

"_Are_ we? I mean, do we _ever_ say the same thing?" he challenges, a vein in his neck beginning to throb, high color flooding his cheeks at his own audacity in pushing things this far; farther than ever before.

She drops her head into her hands momentarily. "This is such a mess. Today. In my head it went…so differently."

She hears Castle sigh, a sigh of exhaustion or maybe defeat.

"How different?" he asks, his temper back under control, his voice measured, though still tainted with tiredness.

"You were pleased to see me for starters," she admits, with a release of breath that sounds like a bitter laugh designed to show how deluded she now recognizes she'd been with that unrealistic expectation.

"I _was_ pleased to see you," Castle insists, and he honestly was, once he knew that Josh was gone and she'd actually come to find him, that she still wanted him around.

Kate snorts and half-turns away from him.

"Okay, not right away. But after…once the shock wore off," he admits, because if she can be honest, then so can he.

"Can we sit down now? I don't feel so good."

Castle reaches out to cup her elbow, noticing the pallor in her cheeks all of a sudden, the bright flush from earlier now diluted to a bloodless white. "Sure. Let me get you something to drink."

The feel of his fingers on her arm lingers like an afterimage – warm, light pressure, both soothing and cathartic. She realizes that this is the first time he has touched her in months, and even then their most intimate physical moments have only ever occurred at times of extreme stress or peril. The most frantic, arousing kiss of her life was a ruse to save two of her team. The night he wrapped his arms around her and physically carried her, his cheek pressed against hers as he struggled to hold her back while Montgomery was executed. The warm, bright day he laid his hands on her body as he fought to save her life by staunching the flow of blood pumping out of her chest, whispering words of love to keep her with him. These moments form a sad litany of desire and regret, a twisted demonstration of what she means to him and he to her, achieved only when then chips were down and they thought they were about to breathe their last.

She watches him now, broad backed and solid, from the safety of his sofa as he lifts glasses down from a cabinet in the kitchen and then pours ice water from the refrigerator into a jug, before loading the whole lot onto a tray and heading back in her direction.

This needs to stop. She might not be any good at it, but these misfires, these horribly damaging mistakes need to stop.

_TBC..._


	4. Chapter 4 - Awkward Questions

_A/N: Thank you for your company on this journey._

* * *

**Chapter 4: Awkward Questions**

Castle lingers in the kitchen as long as he reasonably can without starting to look weird or inhospitable, which is tricky given Kate has a clear view of him from her position on the couch. Inhospitable? She's not just some random guest, and didn't Kate just tell him to cut the polite crap not five minutes ago?

So he lingers a little longer, grabbing a lime from the fruit bowl and cutting it into wedges to drop into their water jug, because he needs another minute, just a few extra seconds breathing space to process everything that's just gone down.

He has imagined telling her that he loved her in the past. Of course he has. Many, many times and in lots of different ways. There was the simple Sharpie message he tried writing on the lid of a coffee cup one morning just to see if he could fit in all the words. His mother found the prototype and threw it in the trash by mistake, assuming it belonged to Alexis. Then there was the fortune cookie company he discovered online who can print any short message you want and insert it inside one of those stale little sugary cookies. But since they usually order Chinese at the precinct, and Ryan has a habit of stealing all the cookies, that idea had misadventure written all over it. Then there was the skywriter, the florist fluent in the language of flowers, the old steamed up bathroom mirror trick (not so useful in a precinct full of male cops) and a childish plan to spell out to her how he felt with a text-load of emojis.

Whispering it over her dying body in a cemetery full of people didn't even make his Top 50 Fantasy Scenarios. Who'd have thought.

He can admit these things to himself now, now that the cat is well and truly out of the bag, whether Kate Beckett remembers the big reveal or not. He can also admit that he fantasied about hearing her say it back to him one day too. And now that she has, any desire to perform the happy dance of his imaginings has completely deserted him. Because she damaged his trust by pulling that disappearing act three months ago and following it up with the silent treatment. She damaged his trust not only in _her_, but in himself; in his ability to tell what's real from what's just plain old wishful thinking, fantasies that exist only inside his head.

* * *

Eventually, when he can delay in the kitchen no longer, he gathers up the tray and heads back towards his partner, who's sitting a little more slumped on his sofa. She looks pretty tired, exhausted even, but Castle has stuff on his mind, and so he's too preoccupied with his own bruised heart to pick up on any of these signs.

One, okay maybe two major things are still bothering him. He decides to tackle the most brutal one head on.

"Can I ask you a question? Would we even be having this conversation tonight if I didn't have some information that might help you with your mother's case?"

He asks the question with his head still bowed over the tray as he carefully places it down on the coffee table between them. As a result he doesn't meet her eyes when he chooses to challenge everything she's just shared with him, employing words that have so much potential to wound.

There's dead silence for a beat and then Kate takes a weary breath. "You really haven't been listening tonight, have you?" she states, standing up quite suddenly.

"Wh—where are you going?" Castle stutters, when she abruptly turns to walk away.

"Don't worry, I'm not running out on you again," she says, flicking a hurt look over her shoulder. "Bathroom," she adds, making for the downstairs cloakroom.

Castle growls at himself in frustration as soon as he hears the bathroom door click shut. His wounded pride, his dented heart and fragile ego are all getting the better of him. What does it matter why she came to the book signing now or even why she's here tonight? Can he not just let it go, choose to believe that what she said is true: that she's in love with him? Isn't that what he's dreamed of hearing all along?

He goes and fetches the file from his office, laying it down on the table for her with a resigned sigh. If that's what she came for, if that's what tonight's performance is all about, he'll know soon enough. With that tantalizing manila folder sitting in plain sight, she's bound to show her hand before too long. She never could stay away from her mother's case when there was a whiff of a chance of solving it. It's like a drug to her – addictive and equally as dangerous to life and limb.

* * *

He's just about to sink down onto the sofa to wait her out when he hears a commotion coming from the bathroom. Something comes crashing to the tile floor and Castle sets off running.

He leans on the doorframe, panicked and breathless. "Beckett? You in there?"

He hears a groan followed by a long, frustrated sigh.

"I'm coming in, okay. Stand clear of the door."

"Castle, door's open," she informs him, sounding slightly exasperated, managing to raise her voice so that he hears her before he goes all Kung Fu Panda on her and kicks the damn thing down.

When he gets inside, he finds Kate leaning over the basin, her face ashen, lips a bloodless, insipid pink.

"What happened? Are you okay?"

He hovers behind and slightly to one side of her, hands curled into fists again to prevent himself from touching her. But she looks so fragile that he can't resist, so he reaches out and softly lays a hand in the middle of her back, high up between her shoulder blades.

She tries to shrug him off, bending down to pick up the chrome tissue box she knocked to the floor, slender fingers gripping tightly to the edge of the vanity as she does so.

"I'm fine. I'll…_be_ fine," she insists, sinking down onto the closed toilet seat as if she doesn't have the wherewithal to remain standing. "Just give me a minute," she adds, tipping her head forward over her thighs, her spine bowing.

Castle kneels on the floor in front of her, tilting his head to the side so that he can see her face. He tentatively places a hand on her knee. She's so pale that he can see the blue vein in her forehead pulsating, oxygenated blood making it stand out clearly against the waxy pallor of her skin.

"Kate, when did you last eat something?" he asks, softly.

She shrugs, listless, carefully shaking her head to avoid adding to the dizziness she's already experiencing. "Breakfast, I think."

Castle's head lolls forward in front of her knees. He smacks a hand to his brow in frustration and then he sighs. "Oh, Kate," he mutters, before pulling himself upright again. "You need to take better care of yourself," he scolds, taking her elbow to help her to her feet.

"I'm not an invalid. I can stand by myself," she protests, immediately blowing her own argument when she sways on her feet and has to reach out to touch the wall for support.

"Sure you can," mutters Castle, taking her elbow once more to steady her. "Just…indulge me, would you? It's not everyday a beautiful woman tells me she loves me and then swoons in my arms."

"You wish," whispers Kate, giving him a half-hearted nudge and a ghost of a smile.

* * *

He feeds her leftovers. Like, he _literally_ tries to spoon-feed her the pasta dish he made for himself tonight, until she growls and bats his hand away.

"I'm not an infant. Give me the damn fork."

He places the fork in her hand and moves round to the other side of the island to watch her eat.

She steadily begins to consume mouthfuls of food, only pausing now and again to sip her ice water or to chew. She looks as if she hasn't eaten in days – both from the level of hunger and the protrusion of bones on display. Her loss of body fat, such as it ever was, is pretty stark, and something Castle is only just noticing, now that her t-shirt and jeans are all that she's wearing and he's focused enough to observe her.

"Good?" he asks, as she pauses to wipe her mouth on a napkin.

"Mm," she hums, nodding, grateful. She seems calmer, a little color returning to her cheeks.

Castle puts his glass down and gets up from his stool feeling stiff and old. He can sense her following him with her eyes as he crosses the living room floor to collect the buff-colored folder he left out on the coffee table. When he returns, he quietly lays it down on the counter in front of her. No drama, no big ceremony.

Kate eyes the folder for a second and then she takes a deep breath, reaching for her water glass. She takes a sip, gaze still hovering over the manila file, and then she settles her glass back on the counter. She pushes her empty pasta bowl away and folds up her napkin. The weight of silence in the room is astoundingly heavy.

And then all at once, her lashes flutter and rise, her eyes locking with his. "What do you want to know?" she asks, staring deep into a well of navy blue.

Castle frowns and he skims her face for clues. "What do _I_—?"

"I mean it. Rick." She says his name as if she's trying it out for the first time.

Castle freezes at this unfamiliar sound coming out of her mouth. His name sounds both intimate and foreign coming from Kate Beckett's lips, a realization that makes him slightly sad.

"Talk to me. Please? I'll tell you anything. Anything that'll help you believe that I'm sincere."

"What happened in there?" he asks, nodding his head towards the guest bathroom.

"I felt faint. I stumbled," she shrugs, batting his question away.

"Has that happened before?"

"_No!_" she insists, glaring at him again.

And he wonders _why_ she wanted to recuperate alone. He fusses, he hovers, he would have driven her mad and they wouldn't have made it back from her dad's cabin alive. Certainly not as a couple. Those are pretty damn good reasons. She knows herself well enough to recognize that she gets grouchy, defensive and impatient when she's hurt. She would only have ended up pushing him away.

"You're sure? he persists.

"I already told you. I hadn't eaten since breakfast. I promise I'll take better care of myself from now on."

The wounded look he gives her tells her everything she needs to know and more. He still wants to be the one who's allowed to help take care of her. Tonight it's almost too much. But for his sake, she reaches out her hand, stretches her fingers towards where his rests on the counter, and then she briefly grazes his knuckles.

Castle looks up when he feels the light stroke of her touch, eyes wary with confusion.

"Thank you for looking after me…just now," she adds, bobbing her head in the direction of the bathroom. "Dinner was lovely," she assures him, offering a faint flicker of a smile.

Castle nods, accepting her words of gratitude, and then he stands again. Kate watches him stretch, the move unwittingly erotic, though she knows that seducing her is furthest from Castle's mind at this point. There's still too much pain and mistrust and anger sitting between them for thoughts to stray in that direction right now.

"Can I make you a cup of coffee?" he asks, stifling the remains of a yawn.

"I should probably go…let you get some sleep."

She makes the offer, but they can both hear the hesitancy in her voice, see the lack of follow-through when she doesn't move a muscle where she's sitting. She's being polite, a good guest, doing the one thing she asked him to cut out an hour or so ago.

"You think I'm going to sleep? After tonight?" he asks pointedly, and Kate blushes. He's being so honest.

She shrugs, a 'what the hell' kind of gesture. "Better make me that coffee then."

* * *

She watches his mastery over the built-in coffee machine. He works it like a pro barista. No steam burns or spilled grounds for him. His ass looks amazing in the dark blue jeans he has on, his back broad and welcoming encased in the soft, worn flannel of his plaid shirt.

He turns around quite suddenly with two cups in his hand, while Kate is still mid-daydream, and he catches her staring. She blushes, but he doesn't say anything, just lifts his eyebrows to let her know he caught her; a tiny glimmer of hope in an otherwise tense situation.

They do the ritual back and forth with creamer and sugar, and then all that's left is silence and their hot drinks to contemplate.

"Why today?"

Castle's question sounds stark against the backdrop of quietude in the loft.

"You mean is it about the file?" she asks, her eyes straying momentarily to the unopened document.

He nods grimly, tight-lipped.

"When I went back to work yesterday..." She lets her eyebrows shoot up towards her hairline and he reads between the lines.

"Gates?"

Kate nods. "Yep. You've met her," she says, pursing her lips.

"That good?"

Kate nods again. "She asked me to call her Sir. Like we're in the military or something."

"Boot camp. You know that's a _really_ good description of the Twelfth right now."

"The boys told me what you did, investigating. They did mention that you had a file. But I swear that's not what today was about, Castle. You've got to believe me."

"I want to, Kate, but—"

"I know you don't trust me."

"I trust you. I trust you. I just—"

Castle drains the rest of his coffee, wishing, not for the first time tonight, that his cup contained something stronger than caffeine. Then he carefully places it back on the saucer, his mind whirring with thoughts of what next.

"Did I break us?"

Kate's voice startles him, despite being so faint that she sounds like a child. But her question surprises him even more.

"Us?"

"Our partnership. Any chance we have of something more. Did I _do_ that?"

Castle stares at her, silent and serious, impassive even; offering no real clue as to his thinking from the look on his face.

Kate drops her head down to stare into her coffee cup. She can't bear to look at him for fear of what she'll see next when she takes a deep breath and steels herself to force the issue all the way for once.

"Do you even love me anymore?"

_TBC..._


	5. Chapter 5 - The Whole Truth

_A/N: Many thanks for your support and encouragement. _

* * *

**Chapter 5: The Whole Truth**

_Previously..._

_"Do you even love me anymore?"_

* * *

The air in the loft appears to stop moving, particles seeming to freeze in place, their energy loss to the ether going against all understood laws of physics.

Kate's eyelids feel weighted when she tries to raise them in order to risk a look at Castle's face. She feels sluggish and exhausted despite the regent jag of caffeine, which seems to be doing absolutely nothing for her system.

Castle stands, and Kate watches with a sinking heart when he turns and walks away. His expression is set hard as stone. Her mind is a whirring, panicked mess. Her heart is pounding and her lungs feel emptied of oxygen, depriving her of the wherewithal to even follow up her last revealing question with anything supplementary, anything softening or mitigating. She's in it up to her neck now.

She drops her head into her hands, her brow corrugated by a frown. She feels as if she's drowning.

* * *

"You heard me."

Castle finally finds _his_ voice, though what comes out is little better than a strangled whisper of an accusation. He sounds tortured, maybe even disgusted, her betrayal an unpleasant, bitter poison on his tongue.

Kate stiffens when she hears his statement. That this is what he has chosen to take from _her_ question, and from all of her attempts to share her feelings with him tonight, shouldn't surprise her. He has a tendency to lash out when he's wounded. She already knows this. But surprise her it does.

Slowly, she raises her head to look at him. He's standing a few feet away, staring at her, waiting for an answer. She barely nods her head, moving it just a fraction to acknowledge her own treachery. His face looks terrible, his eyes hard, laced with hurt, his lips set in a thin, determined line.

"And you remember? _Obviously,_" Castle persists, needing more, some kind of proper, irrefutable confirmation from Kate.

"Yes," she sighs, running a hand through her hair in discomfort, scratching at her scalp when it prickles with unease.

"At Roy's funeral, after you were shot, you—"

"Yes, Castle. I heard you tell me that you loved me. Yes," she grits out, exasperated with herself as much as she is with him for his determined pushing.

The sound of her voice dies away and they're left alone again in the loft with nothing. There is no one to mediate, no one to distract or interrupt them tonight. They must wade through this quagmire of issues on their own or not at all.

Kate flicks another glance in Castle's direction. She finds a washed-out, defeated look on his face that more or less says it all. He still hasn't answered her. Her question was clear. His silence, she assumes, equally clear. So she prepares to leave of her own free will, to get up and go home before he decides to escort her to the front door with nothing but a hurt silence between them.

With a last glance at the folder lying on the counter, she stands, tugging the hem of her t-shirt back down, taking a second or two to make sure she feels steady on her feet before she risks trying to move.

* * *

"_Why?_"

His bewildered question makes her halt on the spot. She swallows greedily, pressing her hand to her scar. If he still wants to know, maybe there's still hope. Of course there's every chance he might just want to pick at the scab, amass every gory detail of her betrayal: all the better to torture himself with. But maybe, just maybe, there's still a chance.

She turns back slowly, until she's facing him, before she answers. "Same reason I left. Self-preservation."

"I'll need more than that, I'm afraid," he pushes coldly, crossing his arms over his chest in a show of defiance that Kate's pretty sure he only half means.

She breathes out slowly through her nose, attempting to quell the irrational urge to tell Castle to mind his own business. Of course he wants to know, and of course he deserves a proper answer. She's just not used to having to explain herself to anyone.

"Like I said, I had no idea how getting shot would make me feel…about myself, about my life... I questioned _everything_. Knowing someone wants you dead...? Castle, that's some pretty difficult stuff to get your head around. I could never have predicted how it would affect me."

"You mean that it would make you harder? Turn you into a liar?"

She knows how hurt he is. She can see it in the strain in his eyes, the tightness in every muscle in his face. So she lets these angry, stinging accusations slide off her like snow off a Dutch roof. If he really wants to know, she'll tell him, spare no detail this time. She owes him an explanation at the very least.

"I woke up with a tube down my throat, more scared than I've ever been. That's the truth. I felt flayed raw. Stripped of…_everything_."

Castle looks about as horrified as she's ever seen him, outside of the look in his eyes that day at the cemetery, when he loomed over her in utter panic, begging her not to die.

She barely pauses for breath, just keeps pouring out the only story that will give him any closure.

"I wasn't a cop when my mother was murdered. I was a _college kid_, Castle. Still a teenager, and I had no intention of ever becoming a cop. It took me _years_ to build up a hard enough shell to be able to survive out on the street. I had to toughen up to even measure against my peers. Do you have any idea what I went through to protect myself? To protect my ride-along partner? Just so we'd come back off every tour alive?"

Castle has sunk back down onto a stool to listen to her, as if his own muscle strength has deserted him. Kate doesn't let up.

"When you met me I was…I was this complete person already. A fully formed adult. A homicide detective, no less. Years of arresting scumbags, working brutal shifts, having drunks vomit over me, patting down drug addicts and just waiting for that _one_ needle stick that might irreparably change my life, fending off sexist advances in every department and on every street corner I worked…"

She pauses for breath and then keep going. "_Every one_ of those experiences, and things you can't even begin to imagine, hardened me."

"Kate—"

Castle tries to interrupt, looking as if he knows he's pushed her too far this time. But she ignores him and plows on.

"But you saw none of that. You saw this woman who you put on a pedestal, someone you publically called extraordinary. I think even _I_ started to believe it after a while," she adds, with a wistful, self-depreciating smile and a scornful shake of her head.

She watches Castle swallow, the hurt look on his face paired with something less easy to define.

"I was being truthful. You are extraordinary."

Kate shrugs dismissively. "Yeah, well, when I woke up in that hospital bed after my surgery, all of that toughness was gone. Everything I'd worked for, all the things I thought I'd learned about myself were in doubt. I was just another invalid with an ugly hole in her chest, headed for months of rehab with a target on her back."

Kate can see how uncomfortable these revelations are making Castle. He doesn't like being the bad guy, not with her. She's seen him behave in the same way with his mother and Alexis: loathe to criticize, often at high cost to himself.

"I wanted to be there, Kate. I could have helped you."

"I had a _boyfriend_. I wasn't supposed to be leaning on you. Not like that."

"But…you broke up."

"Yes. And I was in no position to start something with you the very next day. I _knew_ what you wanted, Castle. Those three little words…they changed _everything_. I had nothing to give you back. I was a mess. Just ask my dad."

"I didn't need anything from you, Kate. I just wanted the chance to be there. To support you."

"I know," she says, her voice becoming soft and regretful. "And ignoring you was wrong. Not telling you where I'd gone and why, those are possibly the biggest mistakes I've ever made. You deserve so much better."

* * *

They both fall silent, this part of the conversation obviously at an end. Kate is acutely aware that Castle still hasn't answered her question, and she's on the verge of giving up and going home for the night. She has Gates to face tomorrow. Doing that on no sleep doesn't seem like such a good idea.

She stands to leave and immediately Castle stands too.

"So…what happened today?" he asks, not ready to let her go just yet. "After you came to see me. What made you come back here tonight?"

Kate pauses for just a second before she answers him, and then she shrugs, as if it's all so simple.

"If I loved you, and I do, why was I making you wait a single day longer? Why was I making _myself_ wait? Was I not sure? But of course I was sure or I wouldn't have come to find you at the book signing…stirred that murky pond."

Castle's eyebrows shoot up. "Murky pond? You flatter me."

"Come on, Castle. We've been far from clear with one another. I'm just being honest."

"I thought I was pretty clear."

Kate blushes and bites her lip, and then she nods, looking down at her shoes. "You…you were abundantly clear. I might have been a little preoccupied trying to breathe at the time," she admits, wryly.

"And now?"

"I'm here," she shrugs, holding her hands out from her sides, palms up, in a gesture of openness. "I'm here after asking you to wait."

"Not clear enough, Kate."

"It was today."

"Well, you just upped the stakes. You changed the rules when you showed up here tonight. All bets are off."

"Got anymore gambling metaphors up your sleeve?" she nips back, with a dry arch of her eyebrow.

"Why? Am I going to need them? A gamble – is that how you see me?"

"No. No, but it was how I used to see _myself_. A bad risk…as…as a part of an us that didn't even exist yet. An us I started to want but could already imagine being over before we even got started."

"Why?"

"_Why?_ Because I was that screwed up. I was emotionally _ruined_ by the loss of my mom, Castle. Then Royce and Montgomery, getting shot—? The whole dark mess of my adult life. Poor relationship choices, a workaholic with no private life… I haven't taken a proper vacation in years. I _live_ for my work, and you…you don't. You have balance, Castle. Stability, normality, _a family_."

"Don't you want that too? Wouldn't you like to have that?" he asks, his blue eyes softer now, most earnest on her behalf.

"I'm here, aren't I?"

* * *

Kate shrugs, and then she brushes past Castle to make for the sofa. She collects her jacket and purse and she heads for the door.

"You don't have to go," he says weakly, though somehow they both understand that she's definitely leaving this time.

Kate tugs on her leather jacket, flicking her hair out from beneath the collar with practised ease. "Yeah, I do. I have work tomorrow, my requalification to take care of first thing. I need to get some sleep if I want my gun back anytime soon."

"Right," he nods, looking down at his feet as they stand by the front door. An awkward, tentative pairing.

"Good night," Kate whispers, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss Castle on the cheek. She lingers for a second with her hand on his arm and her lips by his ear, before she drops back to the floor, her scent filling his nostrils and making him woozy. "I'll call you when things get a little clearer."

Castle gives her a questioning look.

"With Gates," she clarifies, walking out the door.

"Right," he mumbles after her retreating back, so bitterly disappointed with himself.

He's scuffing at a mark on the hall floor with the toe of his shoe when she turns back to impart a feeble smile, her cheeks stiff from holding onto it, her muscles trembling.

"Text me when you get home?" he asks, giving her a hopeful look, since this is all he appears capable of offering her right now.

"Promise," she nods, raising her hand in a fleeting wave.

After Kate disappears through the open elevator doors, she manages to hold on just a second of two longer before crumpling back against the rear wall of the car, quickly having to press a hand over her mouth to stifle a despondent sob.

_TBC..._


	6. Chapter 6 - Night Caller

_A/N: If you're still hanging in there, I'm still writing. Allons-y..._

* * *

**Chapter 6: Night Caller**

_Previously..._

_"Good night," Kate whispers, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss Castle on the cheek. She lingers for a second with her hand on his arm and her lips by his ear, before she drops back to the floor, her scent filling his nostrils and making him woozy. "I'll call you when things get a little clearer."_

_Castle gives her a questioning look._

_"With Gates," she clarifies, walking out the door._

_"Right," he mumbles after her retreating back, so bitterly disappointed with himself._

_He's scuffing at a mark on the hall floor with the toe of his shoe when she turns back to impart a feeble smile, her cheeks stiff from holding onto it, her facial muscles trembling._

_"Text me when you get home?" he asks, giving her a hopeful look, since this is all he appears capable of offering her right now._

_"Promise," she nods, raising her hand in a fleeting wave._

_After Kate disappears through the open elevator doors, she manages to hold on just a second of two longer before crumpling back against the rear wall of the car, quickly having to press a hand over her mouth to stifle a despondent sob._

* * *

By the time she unlocks the door to her apartment she's more or less back to normal. Her tears dried even before she strode out into the lobby of Castle's building. Just a quick wave to the doorman and she was stepping out onto the corner of Broome and Crosby to hail a cab home, wind whipping at her hair, the mask concealing her heartache dropped firmly back in place.

She's trying to view tonight as a setback. While she might have had her eyes opened by seeing Castle again today, his epiphany may take a little longer. She assumes that he's been working hard to get over her, since some point in the last twelve weeks when it finally became apparent that she'd decided to forget about him, that she wouldn't be calling any day soon.

Her head feels heavy, her body sluggish, laden with an ache that permeates all the way to her bones. She flicks on the shower, leaving the water to warm up while she heads back to the bedroom. Kicking off her suede heels, stripping her grey t-shirt over her head, followed by her jeans, she's soon down to her underwear. Exhaustion licks at her skin, and she knows that if she sits down on her bed for even a second she'll simply lie down and fall asleep. So she forces herself back to the bathroom to shower.

She catches a glimpse of herself in the mirror above the sink. Her face is insipid, as if her makeup has somehow worn off through the emotional battles of the day leaving her looking pallid and about as exhausted as she feels. Even her hair looks limp and out of sorts.

She pauses in front of the mirror to examine her scar. With the tip of her finger she traces the indented roundel of the bullet's entry point. With the pads of her other hand she follows the outline of her surgical incision. They're both completely healed and pretty well settled now: a baby pink color she knows will soon fade to a permanent white. She pauses, giving them one last look after she removes the distraction of her bra and simply stands there bare and vulnerable, and stares.

She knows she's too thin, her bones protruding at her hips, ribs and collarbones most notably. What will Castle think of these scars when he sees them, she wonders. There is no room for ifs in her thinking tonight. If she gives way to doubt she knows she will crumple. To have told him that she loved him was supposed to be the key, the magical key to a new future filled with happiness for both of them. To ask him if he still loved _her_ was supposed to elicit and instant, unequivocal "yes". Instead she got a grilling about her disappearing act and a stony silence as to the state of his feelings towards her as things stand today.

She grabs a hair tie from the little dish on the shelf above the sink and wraps her hair up into a tight bun before stepping over the edge of the bathtub and under the steaming hot spray of the shower.

She soaps her body, watching as the suds slide off her slickened skin, pooling at her feet and circling the drain before disappearing from view. She lingers for a few minutes under the cleansing gloss of warm water, letting it loosen her muscles, relieving some of the tension in her neck and back. Her eyes slip closed and she drifts, longingly thinking of him.

* * *

When she sinks onto the bed five minutes later, wrapped in a warm towel, the lure of sleep tugs at her like a drug. She's been sleeping so much better lately; her dreams less troubled than those at the cabin, when she was stalked throughout the night by a band of faceless men armed with M40's, Kate's head centered in the etched reticles of their telescopic sights.

She quickly towels dry and then crawls beneath the covers wearing a long cotton nightshirt. When she reaches for her phone to set the alarm, she's surprised by the time. It's close to midnight, her angst-filled evening with Castle a black hole of time that swallowed whole minutes and hours without her even registering.

He asked her to text him to confirm that she made it home safe. She remembers this suddenly, teeth sinking into her lip with regret. Tucked under the covers in the dark of her bedroom, the phone screen's glow her only light, she debates the words she might use for such a text. They're in uncharted territory now – caught between their old world and a new one, whatever form that might take; together or apart.

She thumbs the screen, tapping the fingers of her free hand against her forehead. "Come on, Kate," she sighs, opening the Messages facility, "just write something."

She told this man that she was in love with him today. A text message should be nothing. It's only as she closes the Messages feature and taps his name in her contacts list that she acknowledges that a text message _would indeed _be nothing.

No more half measures. Time to step it up.

* * *

"Hey, it's me," she says, when the call connects, her voice warm and gentle, befitting the late hour and the cool silence in her bedroom. "Sorry I didn't text right away. I took a shower...lost track of time."

There's no reply on the other end of the line, though the whisper-soft sound of breathing tells her that he is there. She just hopes he's listening.

"Castle? You there?" she checks, pulling her ear away from the phone to make sure that the call is still live when he still doesn't speak.

"Yeah…here. I'm sorry too." His voice is heavy and dull-sounding; an echo in an empty drum.

Kate frowns, forgetting that Castle can't see her. "Why…what are you apologizing for?"

Castle snorts, a derisory sound that she takes to mean _'where do I start?'_

"I behaved like an ass."

He sighs, and Kate waits to hear if he's going to say anything more. She doesn't want to talk over him if he does, so she remains silent, and, eventually, like a perp in the box, her silence works and he doesn't disappoint.

"You…you just make it so hard sometimes."

She chews on her nail. "I don't mean to. It really was great to see you today," she confesses, biting her lip once the words are out of her mouth.

"D'you mean that?"

"You have to ask? Castle, come on, I just—"

"So, you made it home then?" he says, cutting across her to change the subject to a safer question, one he already knows the answer to. He doesn't need her reminding him that she told him she loved him today, particularly when he feels so heart sick about his own pathetic, ungenerous response.

"Safe and sound. I'm in bed already. Lights out."

"Right," he sighs, listlessly.

"You?"

"Just…trying to get some work done."

"Writing?" she asks, her voice perking up. She has no idea if he's been working on something while she's been away. Maybe there's another Nikki Heat novel under construction. She feels a stab of guilt when it hits her that she didn't even ask him about his work today, and she makes a mental note to change that. She'll quiz him everyday from now on, if he gives her the chance.

But then she hears the unmistakable tinkle of ice cubes circumnavigating the perimeter of a glass and she shakes her head.

"Drinking," she says, her voice falling, tone coated with a hard shellac of disappointment.

There's a sharp crack when Castle sets the tumbler down on the surface of his desk just a little too hard.

"You know that won't help."

"And how would you know?" he nips back.

"Because I've been there, tried that. _And_ I watched what it did to my dad. Drinking won't help, Castle. Get some sleep," she says, preparing to end the call.

He catches her just in time. "Kate?"

"Yes?"

"I don't want to be angry anymore. Not with you. You've been through enough already."

"We both have, Rick. This isn't all about me."

"Yeah." His flat, hollow answer tells her he doesn't really believe her.

"Look, get some sleep. Things will look better tomorrow. I promise."

She pauses for a few seconds, letting silence drift between them to see if he'll share anything further.

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll be fine. Nothing another Scotch won't fix."

Kate balls the comforter in her fist as anger swells in her chest at his self-pity. She won't be party to this dark, self-indulgent drinking session. She was shot, and yes, she hurt him badly when she took herself away to heal alone like a wounded animal in its lair, cutting him out of her life in the process. But she's back now, and she has offered him more than she ever has before. If he wants to wallow in the past, there's nothing she can do about that. But she won't be his enabler, letting him think his behavior is okay. She let her dad off the hook too many times in the beginning and look how that turned out.

"I'll call you tomorrow, okay. Get some sleep," she says softly, making her care for him abundantly clear, before she quickly ends the call.

* * *

Castle stares at the black screen on his phone, his silence brooding enough to fill his office space with a bad atmosphere that hangs in the air, pervading each nook and cranny like a bad smell.

He flops back in his leather desk chair, bouncing heavily when it flexes as far as it's meant to go. He sighs, covers his face with both hands, and then he drags them down over his closed eyes, cheeks and jaw making his skin flush red at this rough treatment. He roams the room with a lazy gaze, stalking the bookshelves with the predatory care of a hunter. When his scrutiny settles, it's on a small stack of _Heat Rises_, mint condition copies sitting in a box that Paula sent over for him to sign as prizes in a fan competition she's currently running on the website.

He gets up from his chair, the springs squeaking with relief, while his own joints creak in protest. He briefly sways over the stack of hardbacks, before he picks up a copy, studies the cover art, and then returns to his desk to sit down heavily once more.

He traces the outline of Nikki's profile on the cover, the black silhouette of the Glock in her hand, and then he picks up his cell phone and thumbs through his contacts. The call connects just as he flaps open the front cover of the hardback with the accompanying new book crack of the spine, preparing to read the dedication it took him weeks to write.

"Hey, it's Richard," he says into the phone, managing to liven up his voice just enough that he doesn't sound as low and lacking in fun as he feels. "Yeah, long time no speak," he laughs with hollow heartiness in response to the quick-witted retort on the other end of the line.

He can do this. He's Richard _freaking_ Castle and he's still got game.

_TBC..._


	7. Chapter 7 - Rewriting History

_A/N: Thoroughly enjoyed reading your funny/shocked/curious reviews to the last chapter. Thank you for making me smile. _

* * *

**Chapter 7: Rewriting History**

When Kate steps off the elevator and begins the well-worn journey towards her desk, she's struck, just a few steps in, by a memory: a startlingly familiar memory that makes her stop in her tracks. Like déjà vu, it causes her to pause and look around, the wire mesh surrounding the bullpen still a veiled barrier between her and her workspace, obscuring her view of the homicide floor like the lattice grill on a confessional. She just can't put her finger on it...not yet.

From her vantage point out in the hallway she can see Ryan and Espo seated at their desks, an argument about something (no doubt) inconsequential animating their faces and fueling extravagant hand gestures.

It takes her a moment. Being back here, day two after twelve weeks away, is more than a little disconcerting. She got up early, straightened her hair, put on a purple shirt that always makes her feel powerful, and a lot more hopeful than the drab, grey cotton turtleneck she'd worn the day before, and then she headed straight to the range. She made sure she got there as soon as doors opened so that she could quickly dispense with the NYPD regulation requiring her to complete a firearm requalification test before getting her sidearm back.

After she shakes herself out of the daydream she'd momentarily dropped into, she proceeds around the corner into the bullpen with the paper target rolled up and tucked beneath her arm. Requalification included firing fifty rounds at stationary targets placed at seven, fifteen, and twenty-five yard distances. She had to achieve a minimum of thirty-nine hits to qualify. She walked out of the range with a perfect score: her final paper target showing all ten shots inside the ten ring, five of them peppering the X at the heart of the sheet, tearing a vicious hole in the very center. She's putting her rage at being made a target herself to the best possible use: she's using it to give her focus, and she's letting is drive her towards the kind of life she now knows she wants.

So, yes, it takes her a moment with everything she has going on, all the competing thoughts swirling around her brain, but then she realizes, as she nears her desk, that it's _his_ cologne. That was the sensory memory she was having out in the hallway. It's Castle's bespoke fragrance she can smell. With its unique blend of fresh, sharp, citrusy verbena top notes, the warm, spicy middle note of ginger with a hint of pepper, and a base note of expensive, exotic, yet subtle sandalwood, she'd know it anywhere.

She approaches her desk looking around, expecting to see the writer sitting in that tatty old chair, since this scent memory is so overwhelmingly powerful, familiar and real. But then she is eager to see him again, and her mind has been playing tricks on her lately: altering her taste buds and heightening certain smells and sounds ever since she came round from surgery. Dr. Burke explained that it's a part of her hypervigilance: a symptom of PTSD that means being eternally on guard and ultra cautious in certain surroundings and situations. So maybe this is just that, coupled with a little wishful thinking.

But when she reaches her desk she stops, and then she turns to face her two fellow detectives.

"Has…has Castle been in here today?" she asks the boys, her gaze landing on a black gift box that's been strategically placed in the center of her desk, the whole thing expertly tied up with red satin ribbon.

* * *

Before Ryan or Esposito can even answer, the man in question comes strolling back from the bathroom drying his hands on a white linen handkerchief, humming to himself as he walks. He looks amazing, stunning…perfect even. He's smartly dressed, undeniably handsome, not a hint of the exhaustion, grief or melancholy that stalked him last night. In fact, there is nothing left in his demeanor or expression to indicate any discord in his life at all. His skin is glowing, his jaw freshly shaved. Kate would go so far as to say that he's been to a professional barber for a hot shave before he arrived this morning, since his skin looks so smooth and unblemished, the shave as perfect and as close as she's ever seen it. He has 'new leaf' or 'fresh start' written all over him, and she finds herself yearning to touch his jaw with a long, slow caress of her fingers just to prove to herself that his skin is as soft and smooth as it looks.

"I see you found the gift I left you," he says, startling her out of her fantasy.

His tone is jaunty and amused, as if none of the last twenty-four hours had even happened: none of the arguing, the heartache, the tears or that drunken telephone call she chose to end prematurely around midnight.

Kate tears her eyes away from his face to glance down at the gift box again, something between excitement and nerves beginning to churn in her stomach.

"I…I just got here. How long have you been here exactly?" she asks, looking around the bullpen at the handful of other staff who've made it to their desks at this hour.

"Open it," says Castle, completely ignoring her previous question.

"What?" asks Kate distractedly, studying his face for a second, before leaning down to place her purse in her bottom desk drawer.

"The box. Open. It," he insists, sinking down into his habitual chair, one leg easily crossed over the other, that relaxed, amused, _'I own the keys to the kingdom'_ aura surrounding him once more.

Kate stares at him for a second or two, trying to figure out what he's playing at just by looking into his eyes. She wonders if this is his attempt to get back to normal: their pre-shooting normal of not taking about anything significant outside of casework, and certainly not talking about themselves in the context of any kind of extracurricular relationship.

She finally harrumphs a loud, patience-stretching sigh when she realizes that he's just going to sit there looking devastating, grinning up at her until she gives in and opens the damn box.

"Okay, I do this and then you have to let me get back to work," she mutters, as she tugs on the end of one soft, notched tail of satin ribbon.

"No problem," he gives up far too quickly.

"And if you embarrass me with whatever's in here—"

"Beckett, just open the box," he insists, bouncing back in the hard chair as if he's the one receiving the surprise.

The buxom bow immediately yields to her, unfurling with the sensual grace and flutter of a pliant starlet from a 1930's Hollywood movie. She sets the satin ribbon aside, resisting the urge to pause and caress its glossy gleam, and then she carefully removes the lid of the box and sets it to one side too.

She frowns in confusion when she peels back a layer of tissue paper and finally reveals the contents. "I…Castle, I already _have_ a copy of _Heat Rises_. You signed it for me yesterday."

"Yeah, well, now you have two," he replies with some triumph, crossing his arms over his chest.

"But—"

"Look, sell the other one on eBay if you want," he interjects, with a dismissive gesture, tapping this brand new copy on the hard outer cover with his short nails to indicate that this is the version she should hold onto.

Kate lifts the hardback out of the black gift box to the accompanying percussion of rustling tissue. "But I don't—"

Castle's eyes cloud over for a second and a look of discomfort crosses his face. "I messed up yesterday. The inscription…I—"

"You didn't _write_ an inscription," she reminds them both, slowly opening the pristine book, that familiar spinal crack accompanying the gesture.

Because her request that he, _"Make it out to Kate"_ had merely elicited a superfast scrawl of his signature, once he had sufficiently recovered from the shock of seeing her again to put pen to paper.

"And that was my mistake," he admits, standing suddenly. "_Coffee?_"

Kate looks at him as if he's a crazy person. "_Coffee?_ But…Gates," she whispers, as if her boss is the Wicked Witch of The West who can be summoned by the merest mention of her name.

Kate glances towards the Captain's office. She can see Victoria Gates speaking to someone on the phone. From this distance she can't tell who she's talking to or what's being said, but the longer she watches, the sterner and angrier Gates' expression becomes. Her lips purse and her forehead slowly creases into a tighter and tighter frown, as if her brows are being drawn together by some master puppeteer armed with an invisible cord.

"Is that your requalification? Can I see?" asks Castle, as eager as a puppy.

"Eh…please," she says, distractedly handing him the paper target to look at.

But before he can even begin to unroll it, a sharp bark comes from Captain Gates' office.

"Detective Beckett, would you come in here? And bring your little sidekick with you."

Castle and Beckett stare at one another, that old familiar spark igniting between them. They share that sense of collusion in the space of a look - us against the world - despite the threat hanging over their heads. Castle hands the rolled up paper target back to her with exaggerated care, as if it were a stick of dynamite which might suddenly explode, and then he sweeps out his arm, ushering her towards Gates' office ahead of him.

"Please, ladies first," he murmurs, and Kate rolls her eyes.

* * *

They stand side-by-side in front of Gates' desk, like two naughty children called to the Principal's office, and await what's coming.

"You think you're clever, Mr. Castle, going around my back like that. Well, let me tell you the score. I don't care how powerful your friends are. You screw up at all on my watch, and I'll prosecute you to the fullest extent of the law. You understand me?" she barks, her dark eyes flashing dangerously.

"Yes, ma'am," replies Castle, despite what Kate told him last night.

"_Sir,_" snaps Gates, while Kate stares at her boots and digs her nails into the palm of her hand to quell the giddy feeling rising in her throat.

"Sir," repeats Castle, keeping his eyes straight ahead for once.

"Now get out of my office."

Beckett watches with an amused grin as Castle quickly exits the Captain's office, leaving her standing there alone.

"Detective," growls Gates, eyeing Kate up and down.

Kate clears her throat and sobers her expression. "Yes?"

"_You_ or that pal there embarrass me like that again, I will bury you."

Beckett nods. "Yes, sir. Now, um, if you don't mind…" she says, pulling out her requalification target and placing it on Gates' desk. "I'd like my gun back."

Gates puts on her glasses and opens the target, peering at the bullseye to check Beckett's accuracy. All of the shots are in the 10 ring or better.

* * *

When Beckett leaves the Captain's office in triumph, her Glock in her hand, she finds Castle and the boys milling around by her desk.

She pulls Castle aside and gives him an assessing look. "Showing her up with the Mayor? You might as well have beaten a beehive with a bat.

Castle grins. "It worked, didn't it? Besides, it sure was great seeing her face twitch like that."

Kate shakes her head, but finds herself grinning too. "Right, well, now that she's thoroughly mad at me, I'm going to get back to work while I still have a job. You sticking around after that performance or…did you just want to make my life hell?"

Castle lifts his leather jacket off the back of his chair and shrugs it on. "I have something I have to take care of—"

"Right, of course you do," Kate replies with a tense smile, sinking down into her desk chair and rolling it forward, ready to get down to work.

She's disappointed. How could she not be? Seeing him here today looking so put together, his mood buoyant, teasing like old times; she got her hopes up. But now he's leaving again.

"If you'll let me finish," replies Castle, leaning down to her level, his hands planted on her desk, his face mere inches from hers.

Kate sits back in her chair, needing to put some space between them. Seeing him again in this setting is almost worse than at the swings or in his loft last night. It reminds her of how far she's come, mentally, emotionally, and yet how stuck they seem to be in this place – still just partners, even hanging on to that by just a thread.

"Go on," replies Kate, a mix of patience and curiosity mingling in her voice when Castle just hangs there staring at her.

He smirks in amusement when he hears the little telltale note of interest she's unable to hide from him.

"As I said, I have something to take care of and then I will be back to— _Nah, ah, ah_," he objects, holding his hand up to prevent her from interrupting again. "And then I will be back to take you out to dinner."

"_Dinner?_" she repeats, her eyes widening, her breathing becoming shallower, her pupils dilated to a dark, bottomless black.

"Don't make me regret taking you somewhere with actual cutlery," he jokes, though the joke seems to be lost on Kate.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, if looks could kill, and I'm sure you're pretty handy with a knife if required."

Kate sighs with exhaustion and a kind of heavy resignation. "Castle, if this is your idea of a joke…"

The writer's face grows serious in an instant and he holds up his hands in defense. "No. No joke. This is my way of…of fixing what I seemed incapable of fixing yesterday," he answers contritely, giving her a long, meaning-filled, almost pleading look.

Kate shrugs, though the off-hand gesture belies the hungry interest illuminating her gaze. "What…what's changed since—"

She breaks off to glance over at the boys, checking that they aren't listening in to their private conversation, before she leans in to finish her question. "What's changed since last night?"

"Let's just say I've used up my _'phone a friend'_," Castle offers, enigmatically, his gaze darting back and forth between her lips and her eyes. "_And_ that call made me realize what I was on the verge of throwing away."

"Who'd you call?" asks Kate, watching him warily.

Castle stands, raps his knuckles just once on her desk, and then he turns to wave goodbye to the boys. "I'll be back before seven," he tells Kate, in a tone that is for her ears only. "Text me if anything comes up between now and then, okay?"

* * *

Kate slouches back in her chair, unable to do anything but watch him walk away.

"Hey, what'd your boy want?" asks Esposito, after both he and Ryan give up dogging Castle's route to the elevator looking for clues when he finally disappears from view.

"I have no idea," replies Kate, finding a ghost of a smile suddenly tugging at her lips without her consent. A bubble of happiness erupts inside her without warning and her smile begins to widen.

"_Right_," nods Ryan, also smiling, though his is more of the disbelieving, 'stop yanking our chain' variety.

"Don't you two have work to do?" snaps Kate, purely as a way to get her emotions back in check. "Sonja Gilbert?" she asks, opening her folder with a slap of pleather on wood.

"Yep. Guns, drugs, and love gone wrong," replies Ryan, glancing up from his notes.

"Where are you with the boyfriend?" adds Kate.

But the response from her team is lost to her when her eyes re-settle on the copy of _Heat Rises_ that Castle brought in for her this morning, still sitting untouched in the top right hand corner of her desk. In the stress surrounding the summons to Gates' office she never got a chance to open the book and read the inscription Castle said he'd left in there.

She pulls the book towards her, taking a moment to admire the familiar cover art, and then she slides her index finger beneath the satisfyingly tight front page before slowly turning it over. There, on one of the end papers, is a message penned in black ink, the words inscribed in possibly they neatest version of Castle's handwriting that she's ever seen.

The inscription reads:

"_To Kate. _

_The answer to your question should have been yes. Yes, yes, and forevermore yes._

_All my love, Rick x"_

She stares at the words until they make no sense anymore, their garlands, arcades, angles and thread but a hazy blur on the page, now viewed through a prism of unshed tears.

"Boss, you okay?" she hears, above the thundering gallop of her heart and the rushing sound in her ears.

When she looks up, both Ryan and Esposito are staring at her, twin expressions of concern on their faces.

Kate clears her throat, swipes a tear from her cheek, and then she smiles with a newfound confidence. "Yeah, never better," she nods, giving them both a watery, reassuring smile. "Let's get back to work. Tell me again where we are with Sonja's boyfriend."

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: I used the original script from Episode 4x01: 'Rise' for Kate and Castle's encounter with Gates and the immediate aftermath when she emerges from Gates' office, plus the last few lines of dialogue about the case. The rest is mine._


	8. Chapter 8 - Confronting the Past - Part1

_A/N: Merry Christmas everyone. Thank you for a lovely year filled with fun, friendship and fiction. xxx_

* * *

_**Chapter 8: Confronting the Past - Part 1**_

The day drags, time slipping by at a glacial pace despite the backlog of paperwork Kate has to juggle now that she's back at work. She has files from the DA's office to review on two older cases that are just coming to trial, alongside the live investigative details of the open homicide she and her team are currently working. She really shouldn't have even a moment free to think about anything but her work, and yet all she seems capable of thinking about is Castle.

She checks her dad's watch more than is wise, but less than is obvious…_she thinks_, until Esposito skids to a halt beside her desk late in the afternoon, riding his office chair across the uneven floor like a bumper car, and says, "Here. Yours is obviously broken."

He places a little novelty clock on her desk with a smirk. It's a replica of the Dr. Who TARDIS that Castle gave him as a joke one day after he turned up late several mornings in a row claiming to have slept in because his alarm hadn't gone off. The truth was that he'd spent the night with Lanie, the pair of them seemingly incapable of getting out of bed to be in on time. Everyone knew where he'd been without him even saying a word, and Kate considers telling him that right now. But she's in too good a mood. So she lets his little dig slide. He'll keep for another day.

"Thanks," she replies, smiling sweetly.

The more she protests, the harder these two will push their luck. She knows this from past experience. So she accepts the TARDIS clock without further comment, giving it pride of place next to her elephants, and then she turns to give Espo's chair a gentle shove, sending him gliding back towards his own desk, much to Ryan's amusement.

* * *

By six-thirty her eyes are glued to the elevator doors, since Castle promised he'd be back to pick her up before seven. She's been to the restroom, brushed her teeth, applied a little lipstick, finger-combed her hair and reworked her kohl liner with an extra little feline flick at the outer corner of each eye that she'd only ever wear to go out of an evening. She's ready. She is _so_ ready.

Back at her desk, she casts only vague, flickering glances down at the DD5 she's supposed to be filling out, making zero headway on the form, her brain all but switched off to work already. Her phone chirps, and she mutters under her breath at being deflected from her elevator vigil. But then she swallows hard and her eyes widen when she checks the device to find that the text is from Castle. She reads his message with a hand pressed flat over her thudding heart.

"_Ran short of time. So sorry. Meet me at the restaurant at 7.30? Raoul's at 180 Prince. Reservation's in your name. Call if there's a problem. Rx"_

Kate bites her lip. Suddenly she has a whole kaleidoscope of butterflies spiraling around her stomach, twirling higher and higher in an ever-tightening tornado of nerves. They're really doing this – they're going on a date. Not drinks or a burger with the guys after they close a case, not a late night snack after work from the comfort food truck. They're going to an honest to god, smart, popular restaurant together, just the two of them, and oh man, she has to reply to his text or he'll think there's a problem.

She taps and swipes and re-taps. She adds emojis and then she deletes them. She takes a breath, gives herself a good talking to, and the end result is this:

"_No problem._ _See you there. Looking forward to it. Kate x"_

* * *

Immediately she opens the front door and enters the restaurant, Kate is struck by the avalanche of sound rushing to meet her: loud, excited voices talking over one another, the metallic clatter of cutlery, accented by the echoey clash of heavy dishes, these competing sounds all bouncing off the old tin ceiling and walls. In concert, each note mingles to produce the universal cacophony of confident people with money having a great time.

The place is jumping, every seat at the bar taken up by glamorous young women, in pairs or with partners, and every linen-clothed table along the opposite wall filled by stylish, expensive yet easily dressed diners; SoHo locals, New Yorkers and European tourists alike. The bistro is French, still run by the same pair of Alsatian brothers and their families who opened the place back in the 1970's, when Prince Street was not the glamorous SoHo style hub, and home to some of the world's biggest brands, that it is today.

Kate scans the dark, crowded interior looking for her partner. Her visual sweep takes in the eclectic riot of renaissance art lines the walls, hanging cheek-by-jowl alongside an odd assortment of framed, black and white jazz photographs from the 1920's. Together they form an irregularly tiled mural on every wall, stretching up towards the ceiling. Large scale oil paintings of unspecified naked women recline alongside ancient beveled mirrors – junk shop finds, their silvering faded to a crackle glaze - nudging up against simply framed gastronomic awards from years gone by, their once creamy vellum brown spotted with age. The collection is extensive, wide-ranging and as diverse as the bistro's clientele, lending it the bohemian, European air the Alsatian brothers strove for when they opened their haunt with little money, and a grand surfeit of ambition, several decades ago.

Kate feels underdressed amidst this shiny crowd, still wearing her purple shirt and dark jeans, having come straight to the restaurant from the precinct. But then she spots Castle across the room and these concerns dissolve in the face of his dazzling, excited smile. He waves to her from a table in the corner, situated right next to the glass divider that separates the front and back sections of the restaurant. The tables are packed tightly together, so being seated next to this wall will give them a modicum of privacy on one side at least.

Castle stands as soon as she nears the table, still apologizing as she weaves and squeezes her way through the hectic, high-spirited throng to reach him.

"Wow," she beams, looking back in amazement at the path she's just had to forge through the chattering masses clogging the bar area to get to him.

He begins apologizing immediately, one hand held out towards her in offering, as the couple at the next table turn and stare, watching their hesitant interaction with undisguised interest.

"Sorry you had to fight your way in here alone," Castle says, regarding her earnestly, ignoring the rude vigil of the two bored strangers lurking in his peripheral vision. "When I made the reservation I thought we'd be arriving together," he explains, his gaze locking with hers, sending her pulse skyrocketing.

"Castle, it's fine. Really. I'm a cop," she shrugs, offering him an easy smile. "Think I can handle a few over-excited models, stock brokers and trustafarians."

"I'm not even sure I know what that is," he teases, while giving her an appreciative once-over that he makes no attempt to hide. "But I am sorry I missed picking you up at work," he adds sincerely, reaching out to help her as she peels off her leather jacket.

"Relax. Let's just…get seated, shall we?" she suggests, gesturing to the classic, wooden, hairpin back Bentwood chair facing Castle's side of the table.

"Eh—" He hesitates, and Kate frowns at the look of indecision on her partner's face.

"What? What's wrong?" she asks quietly, hyperaware of the listening ears of their neighbors.

"Is it okay if I kiss you first?" he asks, with a hopeful lift of his eyebrows, already moving slightly closer towards her.

_Oh!_

Kate smiles despite her surprise, her eyes sparkling, her cheeks flushing. She nods bashfully, feeling like she's falling off a cliff without a parachute and yet still relishing the descent. "I…I think that might be…yeah," she grins, leaning towards him. "That would be good."

Castle leans in the rest of the way, swerving off center at the last second to kiss her cheek. His fingers gently encircle her slender wrist as he does so, drawing them closer together. Kate ducks her head shyly, their faces just inches apart, and then Castle clears his throat and straightens up again, letting go of her wrist in the process.

"Please…sit," he says, inviting her to join him on the bench side of the table to get her out of the bustle of patrons milling around behind her back in front of the bar.

Kate edges between the two tightly aligned tables, apologizing to their immediate neighbors for the interruption, and then they settle down to sit side-by-side. They're both facing the bar, able to watch the flow of customers coming and going, ordering, drinking, talking, laughing and at times yelling to be heard above the happy, excitable din.

The paucity of space means they're seated very close together on the leather banquette, their shoulders and thighs touching. Castle feels warm next to Kate, his body a solid wall of heat soaking into the side of hers. His nearness is distracting, scattering her thoughts, and yet it heightens her awareness at the same time, attuning her to every breath he takes and every minute shift and movement he makes.

* * *

Before Kate can address the elephant in the room – the change in Castle's attitude and behavior over the last twelve hours – Raoul's character of a maître d' materializes out of the crowd, approaching Castle with his hand outstretched and a beaming smile of familiarity on his face.

"Hey, Eddie. Good to see you, my man. Another quiet night, I see."

Eddie nods in agreement with Castle's opening statement. "You bet," he replies, glancing around the crowded bar. "Never lets up."

"Thanks for squeezing us in," adds Castle, half standing to shake the older man by the hand.

"Anytime, Rick. Anytime. And who is _this_ beautiful creature?" he asks, turning his attention to Kate.

"Eddie, I'd like you to meet Detective Kate Beckett. She's my partner," explains Castle, with some pride, before correcting himself. "Or rather, I'm hers," he backtracks. He turns to Kate, giving her a warm, confident smile. "Kate, this is Eddie H. Raoul's incredibly well-connected and long-suffering maître d'."

"What's this? You're a cop now, Rick? I didn't think they let felons join the NYPD," quips Eddie H., giving Kate a sly wink.

Kate shakes the man's hand, laughing at his putdown. "He's a pain in the ass, is what he is. But we put up with him. He's like…the department mascot, if you will," teases Kate, smirking when Castle gasps indignantly.

Eddie laughs at Castle's indignation. "Oh. Oh, _boy_, have you landed a good one there," chuckles the maître d', giving Kate an impressed look. "Feisty, that one. I'll bet you keep him in line, Detective."

"Yeah, well, despite what she says, she loves having me around," crows Castle, leaning into Kate's side just a little more.

Kate turns to look at him, her smile soft, her eyes like velvet. "Took a while. But, yes, I do like having him around," she murmurs, finally dragging her gaze away from her partner's face, and turning back to address the maître d'.

"So...what can I get you kids to drink? You wanna start with a little aperitif? On the house of course."

"Thank you. That's very kind of you. Dry martini with a twist for me, please," says Kate.

"Same. No, actually, Eddie, make mine dirty," amends Castle, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively at the maître d'.

Kate rolls her eyes and tips her head in Castle's direction for Eddie's benefit. "See what I have to deal with."

"Oh, I sympathize, honey. I do. Those drinks are coming right up. You kids behave now," he adds, giving Kate a departing wink. "I'll get Frankie to bring you a couple of menus to look at while you're waiting. Enjoy your evening."

* * *

"Just how long have you been coming here?" asks Kate, as soon as the maître d' has melted back into the scrum.

"Since…I don't know. Early nineties I guess. As soon as I had enough money in my pocket to buy a steak frites and the _roughest_ glass of house wine you ever tasted. I know that much."

"Were you in the habit of going Dutch back then?"

Castle frowns. "Dutch? I don't follow."

"Don't try and tell me you came in here to dine alone. In your early twenties? Not possible," she grins, gently shaking her head.

Castle smiles at her astute observation, neither accepting nor denying anything. "Your point?"

"_Well_, unless your lady friends were on some kind of nil by mouth diet, I'm guessing you bought them dinner too."

"Could we not talk about my past tonight?" he groans, comically, rubbing his hands down over his face.

"Aw, am I making you uncomfortable?" teases Kate, enjoying the red blush beginning to stain her partner's cheeks.

"Is this your way of asking if I've ever brought other women here?" challenges Castle, since they seem to have adopted a playful, flirtatious mood from the get-go tonight by some mutual, unspoken agreement.

"Should I expect to see a picture of you and some actress-slash-model adorning the wall by the toilets?"

Kate has completely forgotten about Meredith when she make this joke; an undoubtedly painful and humiliating part of Castle's past. She closes her eyes momentarily before immediately apologizing for her gaff. "I'm sorry. I was just teasing."

And just like that Kate realizes how perfectly easy things are between them tonight; how easy it is to be honest, to speak plainly. They've forgotten themselves, the last couple of days and their fraught past, their struggles to get to this point: spending time alone together just having fun. Castle is the one setting the tone, and she's more than happy that he dictates the pace after she threw herself at him yesterday following so much time apart.

"Let's start again. I'm sorry I couldn't pick you up at the precinct like I planned."

"It's fine. Really. We're not exactly in the habit of spending all day together anymore. Not since my shooting."

Castle doesn't say anything. He just sits quietly, toying with his napkin, and waits for her to offer more if she's able. He's learned a lot from her over the last three years, when to keep his mouth shut prime amongst them all.

"I know your life must have changed while I was…gone. And I can't expect to just show up again, click my fingers and have you right back at my side like…like some genie I summoned by—"

"_Rubbing_ a lamp?" smirks Castle, his tone suddenly loaded with playful, naughty innuendo.

Kate turns to stare at him, her mouth slightly open. "Richard Cas—" she gasps, her eyes twinkling with glee.

* * *

Before Kate can finish her sentence, she is interrupted by the shrill, nasal tones of one of the highest-pitched, squeaky-toy voices she's ever heard come out of a grown woman.

"_Ricky!_"

"Oh hell," mutters Castle, under his breath, as a tall, pneumatic, Barbie doll of a woman makes her way towards them on a pair of bright red skyscraper heels.

"Who's—?" whispers Kate, out of the side of her mouth.

"_Camilla!_" he exclaims, answering her question in a tone that strikes more of horror than enthusiasm, when the woman launches herself at him across the table. "How are you?"

"I'm good, Ricky. Real good," she coos, performing some kind of full body shimmy as she wiggles her skin-tight dress back down her thighs, before managing to boost her boobs up and out of the low-cut neckline of her dress in a hazardous move Kate would never have attempted in public. "How're _you_? You look great," she drones in her nasal whine, blatantly flirting with Castle while Kate sits quietly by his side.

"This is my girlfriend, Kate," he suddenly blurts, slipping his arm around Kate's back and giving her waist a squeeze, unexpectedly tipping her into his side for a second.

Kate can smell his cologne again, the scent filling her nostrils like it did earlier today at the precinct. His hand is warm on her ribs, the heat of his palm leaching through the cotton of her shirt. Her head is swimming with the overwhelming sensation of him wrapping around her, making her dizzy.

"Kate, this is Camilla Friedman. Camilla's a model. Her father owns a cutting edge gallery over on West 24th Street."

* * *

At this point in the conversation the woman finally turns her attention to Kate, masking her surprise at the 'girlfriend' information Castle just let loose as well as Kate does, if her impressive, unwavering smile is anything to go by. "Actually, we run the gallery together now. Like a father-daughter thing," she informs Kate, showing off a perfect set of Hollywood-white teeth that must have cost a small fortune to achieve.

"A gallery. How interesting," exclaims Kate, aiming for friendly and impressed. "D'you represent any artists I might know? Anyone local?" she asks, out of politeness and for conversation's sake.

"Guy Bourdin, Corinne Day, Robert Mapplethorpe, David Lachapelle, the French photographer Ludovic Florent…"

Kate's eyebrows shoot up. "That's quite a stable. Mapplethorpe's work must be highly sought after. I saw a retrospective at The Whitney about…oh, five or six years ago."

"Mm," hums Camilla, unimpressed that Kate evidently knows a thing or two about modern art. "We specialize in pop art and photography," drones Camilla, clearly pleased with herself. "Erotic, iconic nudes mostly, if that's your thing."

She makes this last remark in a tone that indicates that she doesn't believe erotic anything to be Kate's 'thing'. Her presumption incenses the detective.

"I see," nods Kate non-committally, managing to maintain a tight smile when Camilla abandons their conversation, turning back to Castle at this point, as if a light bulb just went on inside her head.

Kate immediately detects a sudden anxious increase in pressure along her right side, Castle's body appearing to stiffen, as if bracing for impact when Camilla skewers him with her piercing brown eyes.

"Shaun Alexander has just produced some shockingly good black and whites," she tells him, a sales woman on a mission, before adding her next illuminating remark. "Do you still have the David Lachapelle?" she winks, leaning in closer to be heard above the din. "You remember, Ricky: the one of me with the riding crop and boots from the _Equestrian Dreams_ series? I seem to recall you hanging it in your bedroom?"

The woman is brazenly draping herself over the table at this point, giving both Castle and Kate an eyeful of the pink satin bra she has on beneath her tight-fitting black dress.

Kate digs her nails into the palm of her hand, marveling at the woman's audacity in parading herself so shamelessly in front of her date while she sits there and stews. She decides to step in and crush her like a bug. Enough is enough.

"Actually, no. We took that print down a long time ago," she confidently tells the blond. Turning to Castle, ignoring his wide-eyed appalled look, she adds, "I think we put it in the downstairs bathroom of the Hampton's house. Remember, sweetie? When we remodelled last year?"

* * *

Five minutes later, the sweeping, dramatic departure of Camilla Friedman still fresh in their minds, Castle puts down his half-empty martini glass and turns to Kate.

"Well, that was—" he blinks, for once at a loss for words.

"Embarrassing? But definitely fun," offers Kate, clinking glasses with a stunned Castle while offering him a pleased grin.

"You were…_wow! _I don't think I've ever seen you like that before."

"Thank you…I think," she frowns, before adding quietly, "Old flame?"

Castle's response is lightening fast and unequivocal. "Nope. Not even a spark. I bought a few pieces of art from her father. Turns out she briefly modelled for one of the photographers he represented. I didn't even know that until I came to collect the print from the gallery a few days after the show. I've known her since she was fourteen."

"_So?_"

"Come on, Kate. Give me some credit."

Kate looks down at her lap. Pursing her lips she nods slowly. He might have been a player at one time, but he was never a sleaze.

"Listen, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"You're…you've been so different today. I mean compared to when we spoke on the phone last night. And when I left the loft—" she shrugs one-shouldered, glancing sideways at him. "Look, I'm not letting this go. I don't mean that. But things between us looked pretty bleak yesterday."

"I don't hear a question in there."

"I would just like to know what's changed since last night. Also, _who_ was your _'phone a friend'_?"

Castle laughs, the tension leaving his face. "That's two questions."

"Okay, Sherlock. But I'm betting the answer to my first question is tied to the second. So…come on. Indulge me?" she requests, leaning in to whisper in his ear.

_TBC..._


	9. Chapter 9 - Confronting the Past - Part2

**Chapter 9: **_**Confronting the Past - Part 2**_

_Previously..._

_"Listen, can I ask you a question?"_

_"Sure."_

_"You're…you've been so different today. I mean compared to when we spoke on the phone last night. And when I left the loft—" she shrugs one-shouldered, glancing sideways at him. "Look, I'm not letting this go. I don't mean that. But things between us looked pretty bleak yesterday."_

_"I don't hear a question in there."_

_"I would just like to know what's changed since last night. Also, who was your 'phone a friend'?"_

_Castle laughs, the tension leaving his face. "That's two questions."_

_"Okay, Sherlock. But I'm betting the answer to my first question is tied to the second. So…come on. Indulge me?" she requests, leaning in to whisper in his ear._

* * *

A good bottle of Barolo, two steaks au poivre from Creekstone Farm - complete with hand cut pommes frites - and a shared side dish of baby spinach later, and Kate still doesn't have the answers she's looking for. They've talked for sure – about her job and the current open case they're working, about Alexis, though this is a slightly touchy subject where Kate is concerned, and they've talked about the restaurant, which keeps inserting itself into the conversation no matter how hard they try to ignore the other diners around them.

When a young woman begins making the perilous climb up the old, wobbly wrought iron, spiral staircase to use the bathroom in the clandestine loft above, where a sign informs patrons that the house fortune teller is in residence, Kate shakes her head and laughs.

"What?"

The girl's short skirt affords the leering men at the end of the bar a great view of her underwear the higher she climbs, a fact Kate is certain the girl is already away of, if her slow, deliberate ascent is anything to go by.

"_That_," says Kate, tipping her head in the direction of the staircase and the rapidly disappearing pair of long legs. "I doubt it's even up to code anymore."

"Maybe. But it's always been there," argues Castle.

"Doesn't make it a good thing. I'm…I'm not such a big fan of the status quo anymore," she adds, in a thinly veiled reference to their own situation.

"So I hear," murmurs Castle, hiding a smile in his glass of wine.

Kate sips her own wine for a second or two, and then she takes the plunge.

"If you aren't going to answer my questions, at least give me a clue. What you were doing today?" she asks, the rich red making her feel loose and relaxed, maybe even a little bold, since she'd never normally force him to tell her where he was or what he was doing. Tonight just seems different somehow. "Or do I have to go up those stairs myself and ask the fortune teller to find out?" she adds, as a cheeky afterthought.

Castle barks a laugh of surprise. "Your detective instincts not giving you anything?" he teases, dragging a skinny fry through the small white ramekin of Ketchup sitting between them on the table, and popping it into his mouth.

Kate turns to stare at him, pausing with a piece of steak skewered on her fork hovering halfway to her lips. "_Castle_," she admonishes, her eyes widening indignantly. "Spill!" she commands, giving him a nudge in the ribs.

Castle takes a slow, considered sip from his wine glass, pausing to savor the round, chocolaty aroma of the wine, and then he carefully places the glass back on the table.

"Well?" probes Kate, her voice gentle, her tone lightened by curious humor as she chews on a mouthful of steak.

Castle blows out a long, slow breath before answering. "Writing. I was writing," he confesses with a shrug, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin.

Kate frowns. "You were _writing?_ But I…I don't—"

Castle dumps his napkin in a heap on top of his plate and slumps back against the leather banquet. "Three months. Last night ended a dry spell that lasted three months. That's the longest I've gone without writing since we met."

"_Oh_."

Castle nods thoughtfully.

"But—" Kate murmurs, her mouth suddenly dry. She frowns, her brow knitting together as she tries to get her head around what Castle's just told her.

"You wrote…_nothing?_ The whole time...twelve weeks, you're telling me you wrote _nothing?_"

Castle nods, eyes downcast, toying with the hem of the tablecloth.

Guilt spreads through her chest like a winter chill, and she closes her eyes momentarily, until a young woman near the bar screams with hilarity and her cop instincts make them fly open again.

"But…what about Gina? And Paula? Aren't you contracted to deliver more Nikki Heat novels?"

"That's why I missed picking you up from the Precinct tonight. I called a meeting at Black Pawn, gave them a couple of chapters to get them off my back."

* * *

A quiet moment passes in which neither of them speaks. The hubbub of the restaurant carries on unabated, oblivious to their small, personal drama.

"Right," Kate nods thoughtfully, taking her time to absorb the new information she's just learned. But she's struggling to process. "So…you _really_ wrote nothing for three whole months? But, Castle, writing is your _life_."

"Didn't matter. After you were shot I had nothing left to say."

"_Nothing?_ But how could you have nothing to say? You've done a ton of research over the years you've been working with us."

"Okay, I had nothing _important_ to say. Nothing…_real._"

"I…I don't—"

"Kate, you'd just been _shot_ right in front of me. In front of my _daughter,_ my mother, our friends, your dead Captain…"

"Castle—"

"No, Kate. An experience like that…it kind of messes with your creativity. After the trauma of the shooting and…and what followed. I couldn't get the images out of my head. I couldn't _sleep_ at night. And later, once I knew you were going to be okay, there was the case." Castle shrugs. "I had no time to write, even if I'd had the urge."

"The case?"

"Yes. _Your_ case. I was at the Precinct everyday with the guys. Well, until Gates arrived and threw me out."

"_And?_ Surely you had time to write then."

"_And? And?_ I had _nothing_ important to say. Not after witnessing..._everything_. I…I write _fairytales_ compared to what happened at Roy's funeral. I make things up, Kate. _None_ of what I do is important. I realized that pretty quickly. When you're confronted by a real life and death situation like the one we faced that day. That's when you know."

"Know what?"

"How wasteful your life is. How insignificant your efforts, your contribution."

* * *

Kate purses her lips and closes her eyes before carefully folding up her own napkin and placing it back on the table. "Are we done here?" she asks quietly, without any hint of emotion.

Castle looks alarmed.

Kate shakes her head to indicate that he's misunderstood her. "I mean are you finished eating?"

Castle stares down at the large, white oval plate stained with the juices of his steak. "Uh…yeah, I guess. You want coffee, dessert or something?"

"Would you mind if we just get the check?"

"Sure." Castle frowns. "Hey, is everything okay? I'm…I'm not mad at you or anything. Not anymore."

Kate drops her hand onto Castle's forearm, which is resting on top of the tablecloth. "I know. I just…I need to talk to you and it's— Well, it's loud in here and—" Kate leans in closer to whisper in her partner's ear, her fingers still curled around the sleeve of his shirt. "Our neighbors are kind of eavesdropping."

"Oh," nods Castle, sitting up straighter, giving her a gentle smile. "Gotcha."

He raises his hand as Frankie, their tall, Italian-American waiter, goes sailing past with a huge platter of seafood balanced at shoulder height. A wire stand dangles from the fingers of his other hand.

"We'll take the check when you get a second, Frankie," Castle signals, getting a smile and a nod of understanding in return.

They'll take a walk, maybe go back to his place. Either way, they will sort this mess out once and for all.

_TBC..._

* * *

A/N: Happy New Year, guys. Wishing you everything you wish yourself in 2015. Hope it's a great year for everyone. Thank you for all your support over the last twelve months. xxx


	10. Chapter 10 - Kate Beckett, Fangirl

_A/N: Hope everyone's 2015 is off to a good start._

* * *

**Chapter 10: Kate Beckett, Fangirl **

Castle pays for dinner and then they make their was through the crush surrounding the bar to the front door of Raoul's, pausing in the overheated entryway to don their coats and gather their belongings.

Kate has the gift box, with her freshly signed copy of Rising Heat inside, tucked beneath her arm when Castle ushers her out into the cool, dark street ahead of him. His fingers brush the small of her back, caressing the cotton of her shirt beneath her short leather jacket for the briefest of moments, sending a full-body shiver right through her, from her scalp down to her toes.

"Here. Let me," he says, gently prizing the box out of her grasp to carry it for her. "Where to now?" he wonders aloud, looking up Prince Street towards Sullivan and then down towards Thompson and West Broadway.

"I don't care," Kate shrugs, feeling distracted, even a little agitated. "I mean, I don't mind," she amends more softly, needing to tell him something before they go any further. "Castle, you have to hear this first. You have to listen to me."

Before she can say anymore, a rowdy group of patrons spills out of Raoul's, flooding the dark sidewalk like an oil slick, forcing them apart. Castle motions for Kate to follow him, and she skirts the pool of revelers to join him en route to West Broadway.

Before they meet the intersection with Thompson Street, Kate catches Castle by the crook of his arm, slowing him down, eventually turning him towards her when they reach a dead stop outside H&amp;H Kim, an immaculately stocked Korean bodega on the corner.

They stand next to a bountiful display of flowers, their long stems tightly packed into white plastic buckets, colorful heads nodding in time to the breeze beneath the plastic awning that shields them from an open sky. Kate bites her lip, letting her hand fall from Castle's jacket to loll at her side before she speaks. When she's sure she has the words she needs, as well as his full attention, she begins.

* * *

"Do you have _any_ idea what your books mean to people? What they meant to _me_? _Do you?_" she jabs, her voice strained with accusation.

Castle frowns, this piece of news evidently not at all what he was expecting. "I…I always thought you _tolerated_ Nikki. Okay, maybe it's better now, but—"

"Castle, after my mom died Derek Storm was _the_ single bright spot in my life at the end of every dark, crappy day."

He almost drops the gift box containing his latest book, managing to catch it with both hands at the last second. He hugs it to his chest in an unconscious gesture of self-comfort, afraid to get his hopes too high in case he has somehow managed to mishear or even misconstrue her last remark: a true confession if ever he heard one.

"What?"

Kate ignores the shocked, slightly bewildered look in Castle's eyes, choosing to plow right on with the only words she believes might reach him tonight.

"I read and re-read those books until the dust jackets were hanging off." Kate glances away down the street and then she turns back to look him right in the eye. "Castle, your books saved my life."

He looks more blindsided than pleased, and certainly not the cocky, egotistical author she expected to see when she finally confessed how far back her love of his work extends.

"I...I don't know what to say."

"So…maybe just listen," she suggests, her voice softened and a little exhausted by this unplanned release of emotion, this disclosure of such personal secrets. "Those books…_your_ books— Castle, they were among the few things I kept after my mom died."

"Why have you never told me this before?"

"You've never threatened to stop writing before."

* * *

Kate crosses her arms over her chest, the leather of her jacket creaking as she does so. On this point she is firm – his writing has value, to her and to many, many others. He needs to understand that before they go any further. She will not be responsible for silencing Richard Castle, not after she endured so much to give him his voice back.

"Mm," he hums, looking at his feet, suddenly feeling ashamed of his self-indulgence.

"Tell me more about your mom?" he asks, after a quiet moment passes between them.

"Her Richard Castle novels and this engagement ring," she tells him, fishing the silver chain out of her shirt and dangling it in front of him. Streetlight catches her mom's ring, flaring for a second until it sways back the other way and the glint disappears. "_Those_ and my precious memories of her. They were her legacy. And that was pretty much all I needed."

Castle takes a step back, and then he turns in a restless circle before halting a little distance away from her. "I had no idea," he says, shaking his head in disbelief, sounding wiped out as he rakes his fingers through his hair.

"Yeah, well, maybe you should consider your readers before you decide that what you write, what you _publish_, isn't worthwhile." Kate softens her voice before she continues. "Don't dishonor what you've created…what _we_ created because you were hurt and scared. Your contribution is valuable, Castle. Far more valuable than you realize."

"Obviously," he interjects, toeing a dirty pink patch of gum with his shoe.

"Castle, you can't stop writing. Not ever. Not for anything. Understand? Whether I'm around or not."

She stares at him, willing him to get it, to understand what his words do for her, what they have done for countless other people too. "It's who you are. And you can't stop being who you are, anymore than I can stop being who I am."

* * *

When she stops talking, running out of words, since what she's just said goes far above and beyond her usual willingness to share, Castle raises his head to look at her. A new light of determination shines in his eyes

"Kate, you were…_are_ my inspiration. That's still true. Despite everything. That's what I realized after you left last night."

"And that's a good thing, I hope?" she asks tentatively.

"Yes. Yes, it's a _great_ thing," he agrees, nodding vigorously. "By the time you left the loft I had all these words running round inside my head. After weeks and weeks of stone dead silence. I went into my office, sat right down and started to type. It was after three before I finished."

"And the phone call?"

"Ah, the phone call," he nods, a sheepish smile curling his lips.

"Yes…that. Who'd you call after I left?"

"The only friend I knew would still be awake. I called Bob."

"Bob? Bob Weldon? You called the Mayor?"

"Yup."

Kate narrows her eyes. "Just what did you two talk about?"

"I needed a way back into the precinct. A way around Gates."

"I gathered as much today. Was that all? Gates…the precinct?"

Castle bows his head. "Not exactly."

"I think you'd better explain."

Castle sighs in resignation, choosing to do as she asks. "Bob called after you were shot. He wanted to offer his support. He and Katrina…he mentioned they were going through a rough patch."

Kate frowns and shakes her head. "I don't—"

"We talked…periodically over the last few months. He wanted updates on your condition at first. When he realized I knew no more than he did—"

"I'm sorry," whispers Kate, tipping her head down, realizing how humiliating it must have been for Castle to explain to his friend that he'd basically been abandoned by his NYPD partner.

"Anyway, their rough patch just got rougher. We consoled one another, I guess. Not so's you'd know, being guys n'all." Castle flashes her a brief, sheepish smile when he says this. "But it helped in some strange way, even though you and I weren't…_aren't_ Bob and Katrina."

"So what happened last night?"

"I called to ask for his help with Gates. Told him you'd come back to work…nothing more than that," he assures Kate.

"What did he say?"

"He promised he would make a call. And then he told me that Katrina had filed for divorce."

"_Oh_," murmurs Kate, letting her hands drop to her sides.

"Yeah. You know what else he told me? He said that if I loved you, I shouldn't give up without a fight. He said he gave up on his marriage too easily, and he regrets it every day."

Kate's head shoots up and she turns to stare at Castle.

"Stupid people don't get elected Mayor of New York City*, Kate. So I decided to listen. For once I decided to listen."

_TBC..._

* * *

_NOTE: *Can I just say that Bob Weldon is a fictional Mayor. I know some of you might consider Bill de Blasio an ass right now. Please don't flame me for that._


	11. Chapter 11 - The Art of Compromise

_A/N: I'm dedicating this story to Adriana, aka AAR1806, after her recent, sudden loss. _

_Adriana, I know that nothing but the passing of time will bring you relief from your current heartbreak and sadness. Just know that Angie (dtrekker), and your other friends are here for you, to offer comfort if you need them. God bless from your Castle family. _

* * *

**Chapter 11: The Art of Compromise**

By some magic of synchronicity, some unvoiced agreement, this time, when the crosswalk signal turns green, they both move from the spot they've been occupying in front of the bodega, stepping off the curb and onto the badly patched roadway together.

The act of walking, whether the forward motion or simple movement, seems to free up their minds and their tongues, and they begin to talk in a way they've never really talked before.

"I used to be terrified that I wasn't good enough for you…that I'd actually be _bad_ for you," Kate confesses, keeping her eyes trained on the sticky, uneven sidewalk up ahead.

"Not true."

She sighs and shakes her head at Castle's knee jerk, trademark rebuttal. His response, as ever, is too forgiving, too optimistic and unequivocal, and given far too freely. All because it's her.

Castle knows this truth as well as his partner does. He gives in too easily because this is Kate, and still he can't get past that fact. Not yet. Because nothing she's done so far has pushed him to the point of no return. A least not yet. There's still room, give, an elasticity in the connection he feels to her. He has limits, or at least he did before he met her, but the parameters have changed, softened, elongated somewhere along the way to accommodate her presence in his life. He hopes to invite her into his fold, and he's willing to bend and stretch as much as it takes to make that happen. He lost the battle with himself over Kate Beckett a long time ago. He'll bear those scars forever. He just hopes they'll fade with time.

"I abandoned you, Castle. Left without a word."

He pulls himself back from the slippery slope her truth beckons him toward and battles on.

"And when you were ready, you came looking for me," he explains, reasonably. Always Mr. Hopeful, Mr. Look on the Bright Side, Steady Eddie, sensible and forgiving to a fault when it comes to his lady detective.

"Right," she murmurs, trying not to let her irritation at Castle's too-forgiving nature show.

"So, I'm gonna assume you still want this, Kate. Since you came back."

* * *

Kate heaves out a shuddering breath, somehow better able to confront a terrifying question like this while they walk side-by-side, aimless and free, through the streets of SoHo after dark.

"I'm so tired of holding myself at arms' length. From life. From you," she confesses, gnawing at her lip when she's done.

They've hit the cross street with West Broadway, traffic flowing both ways in front of them as they wait for the signal to change, and Castle uses this moment of stillness to respond to her plaintive sigh, and to reach for her.

"Then…don't. Come here," he says, raising his arm, offering her a spot by his side. He tucks her beneath his wing when she comes close enough. "We'll ease you in," he murmurs, kissing the top of her head.

Kate turns to look at his face, eerily illuminated beneath the corner streetlight's sodium glow, his nose and brow casting dark, menacing shadows across the lower half of his face.

Suddenly, she feels a giggle readying itself to bubble forth from her chest, this tickling jolt of mirth summoned by Castle's absurd word choice. "Ease me in?" she chuckles, dropping her head to his shoulder for a second and swaying against him.

"Yeah. Promise not to foist a full Castle family vacation on you right away."

When he grins, the joy is right there on the surface. That Castle joy she loves so much, the joy that saved her from herself, from a grim future full of darkness, grief, loneliness and bitter frustration. Suddenly nothing is more important than getting this right. She had a plan yesterday to go slow, get herself better, ready, whole again…until she saw him in that bookstore and she finally understood what love meant. And now that she's ripped up that plan, she needs to carry through. No half measures. Castle's future happiness is now in her hands, and that thought terrifies her about as much as it thrills her to try.

* * *

She can feel her own heart beating as she turns him to face her, a fast staccato thundering through her chest. She feels as if she can hear his heart too, a steady thud that is so much a part of her it could be coming from the ground beneath their feet.

"But you can't trust me with this. With us. Not by myself."

"I think you're doing great," he says, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear when the breeze whips around them.

"I don't trust myself."

When she looks down at the ground between them, Castle gently reaches out to tip her chin back up with the tip of his finger so that they are looking at one another once more. Evasion is out, no longer an option for either of them. They do this right or not at all.

"Kate, I don't have a choice. A relationship takes two people. We have to be able to trust each other."

"I trust _you_," she offers, as if that is enough of a solution: one of them on board to steer the ship.

"But…not yourself?" he checks for clarity sake, now not the time for crossed wires or misunderstandings.

Kate shakes her head.

Castle pauses, searching for inspiration. "How...how does it go wrong? In your head? Tell me," he requests, patiently searching for empathy through comprehension.

"I kill _houseplants_, Castle. Benign neglect," she admits, with a huff of defeat, folding her arms across her chest as she empties her lungs of air.

"Well, then you're lucky I'm good at feeding and watering myself," he replies, as if this is all the answer they need to fix this.

_"Don't_." She shakes her head, taking a step back, her eyes flickering with pain.

"What? _Joke_ about this?" he counters, advancing on her, pushing the point until he can reduce her objection to size, if not make it disappear altogether. "Your excuse is _lame_, Kate. I get that you're scared. I do. But you're not the one with two failed marriages on your jacket," he points out.

"Or a charge for stealing a police horse and riding it naked through Central Park," she mutters, raising her eyebrows as she fights a sudden, nascent grin, no matter how inappropriate the timing.

Castle offers her a wan smile as reward for her jibe, since he is a man whose go-to emotion is humor in all circumstances. But then he's right back on track.

"The relationships you _think_ didn't work...the ones that tell you you're bad at this? You left them, Kate. You sabotaged them by holding back, and then you walked away. I watched you do it, don't forget. More than once."

She nods gravely, chastened by the truth in his words, and then slowly turns to look at him, a quiet curiosity in her eyes that betrays her interest in the generous lifeline he's throwing her yet again.

"So...yeah, okay. Maybe I did. What's your point?"

"My point? My point is that _I_ _fought_ for those marriages tooth and nail. I _wanted_ them to work, for Alexis as much as anything, but it didn't matter. They _still_ failed. No matter what I did. _I_ failed. So if anyone should have an issue here, if anyone has a right to feel scared, afraid of screwing this up...it's _me_," he points out, bringing his clenched fist up to his chest.

Kate stares up at him, her gaze brushing his lips and then moving higher to settle on his eyes. But then she moves again, restless, heading for the window of a well-lit, Greek yogurt bar that sits on the corner. Castle walks over to stand next to her as she stares in through the window of _Chobani_ at the myriad suggestions as to how the Mediterranean yoghurt might be prepared.

"So…we're both scared," says Kate, watching a young couple order dessert from the woman behind the counter.

"Seems that way."

"Don't you feel better for admitting that?" asks Kate, giving him a tentative sideways glance.

"Do you?"

Kate contemplates the question for a second and then she shrugs one-shouldered. "I think so," she replies, still sounding a little uncertain. "Do you?"

Castle shrugs too. "Not exactly manly…admitting to being afraid."

"But smart," decides Kate, bumping her shoulder against his.

* * *

In a demonstration of role reversal that he doesn't expect, Kate seems to summon some new courage or confidence from somewhere, and when she turns to face him again, he can see it in the determined, flint-spark of her eyes, even if her explanation, her words, come out haltingly.

"I'll fight...for this. Go it alone if I have to, Castle. I'm ready. Just...all I'm asking is a chance to prove to you that...that I've figured it out."

Castle frowns. "Figured what out?"

"What my life is supposed to be from now on. What it's supposed to look like."

Castle nods, his expression contemplative for a moment or two, until his features seem to soften around the edges, a glimmer of mischief sneaking in. "Okay. Well, if I'm _in_ that picture somewhere…I'll buy that."

Kate grins. Relief floods through her, putting light in her eyes and a glorious smile on her face. "Oh, you're in the picture," she assures him, laughing. She ducks her head shyly for a second, before she stretches out her arm to bridge the distance between them, offering him her hand.

Castle gladly takes her hand, and they walk back towards the curb, stepping off the sidewalk as one, crossing West Broadway hand-in-hand, feeling more connected than ever, more grateful, lighter, happier and more blessed than they both have in a long time. There are still rivers to cross, mountains to climb and beasts to slay along the way, but they're travelling the road together from now on, and it seems as if the wind might finally be at their back*.

* * *

A few moments silence pass, and then Castle takes a deep breath, mischief twinkling in his dark blue eyes.

"_So_...after you saw me yesterday, you really couldn't stay away?" he crows, playfully bumping hips with Kate. "I derailed your careful plans."

Kate gasps, giving him a disbelieving sideways stare. "Stop! Or I will walk away right now," she jokes, both of them certain that's the last think she intends to do.

Castle slings his arm around her shoulders, holding her firmly against his side, while they keep up their pace. "No. No, no, no. You said it now, Beckett. Can't take it back."

"Just watch me," she mutters, quietly. The remark futile, as she tries to force the massive ear-to-ear grin off her face...and fails.

A few steps further on and Castle is at it again. He drops his arm from her shoulders and recaptures her hand, humming innocently before he speaks.

"I'm the focus of that picture, right?" he teases, bumping shoulders with Kate as they hurry down the block.

"You think you're the _focus now?_" gasps Kate, covering her mouth with her hand when she laughs with glee at her partner's huge ego.

"I can tell. I'm the subject, the heart, nub, core, nucleus..."

"_Nucleus? Really?_" giggles Kate, tugging on his hand.

"Yeah. The center of your attention. The…uh…focal point. The _whole_ point."

Kate's laughter can be heard ringing all the way to Wooster Street.

_TBC..._

* * *

_Note: Only the epilogue to go, folks. Hope you've enjoyed the story so far._

*One of the last lines in that chapter reminded me of this old Irish blessing I've always loved. Whether you're religious or not, the words and the intention are generous and well-meaning. You've probably heard this before, but it bears repeating...

_"May the road rise up to meet you._  
_May the wind be always at your back._  
_May the sun shine warm upon your face;_  
_the rains fall soft upon your fields _  
_and until we meet again, _  
_may God hold you in the palm of his hand."_


	12. Chapter 12 - Family

_A/N: If you've read any of my multi-chaps before, you won't be surprised to hear that I found one more chapter lurking before we get to the epilogue. :D _

_Oh, just go with it. I do._

* * *

**Chapter 12: Family**

Without any discussion or explanation beyond the mysterious connection they share, and maybe something akin to a gravitational pull, they end up back at the loft.

The journey from West Broadway to Broome Street is mostly conducted in silence, save for the traffic noise and the pedestrians they have to dodge around on the darkened, uneven sidewalks, still busy with people of all ages at this time of night.

Handholding comes to a natural end when Castle has to fish for his keys to unlock the building's front door. Kate hovers by his side, quiet as a ghost, yet vibrating with energy, until he ushers her inside ahead of him while he stands sentry, scanning the corner opposite for any unusual activity on the darkened construction lot.

His fingers lightly brush her back, exerting the barest, though undeniably attentive pressure, maintaining this caring touch until she is safely indoors and off the street. Since the shooting, Castle has taken great precautions with his own personal security and that of his family's. That they all remain targets until the sniper is caught and the plot behind the attempt on Kate's life revealed and dismantled is a thought that has hovered in and around the edges of his conscience on most days. Probably, he knows, because he had little else to occupy his mind these past months besides the jarring, painful memory of events at the cemetery and the exhausting and unsatisfactory casework that followed.

Missing Kate took up a huge chunk of his thinking time too, and he wonders now if he's ever even told her that – how much he missed her – though the sentiment was definitely implied through his anger of all things. His fear for her and his own family remained inextricably linked throughout her self-imposed exile, making tonight feel like a return to home sweet home after an extended trip away. Like the tumblers of the front door lock rotating and falling into place, he feels as if the riddle of his life, his future, is finally being cracked after a long period of confused and unforgiving stasis.

* * *

The doorman's station is unmanned, so they are able to cross the lobby and pass unobserved into the elevator. The car rises quickly and quietly, respecting the silent stillness of its two occupants.

"Is—" asks Kate, breaking the velvety hush with a question she seems unable to finish, if her frown is anything to go by.

"Mother's out for the evening. Alexis is probably in bed by now."

Kate smiles in relief and shakes her head. "How do you _do_ that?" she asks quietly, as the elevator doors slide open on the top floor.

"Practice," says Castle without thinking, following Kate to the front door.

"_Really?_ Not magic?" she teases, standing to one side to allow him to unlock the door.

"Assumed I'd be a little more rusty though," interjects Castle, stepping over Kate's teasing remark about his belief in matters ethereal, supernatural, unexplained and fantastical. "Given—"

Kate looks at the floor. "Yeah," she nods, acknowledging his meaning. "Well, seems it takes longer than three months apart for your mind-melding powers to fade."

"Or maybe we've just reconnected," he offers, with more kindness and optimism than she has come to expect, before ushering her ahead of him into the loft.

* * *

Now that they're here, their purpose is unclear. Walking the streets was one thing – no need to talk, the journey a sufficient objective in itself. But now, in the quiet, familiar, intimate space that is his family home, it's suddenly evident that they don't quite know what to do with themselves.

"Coffee?" asks Castle, leaning on the twin societal niceties of hospitality and their shared love of caffeine to break the awkward silence.

Kate is standing in the middle of the living room looking like a rudderless boat; she's drifting, eyeing up the sofa one second and then glancing at the kitchen counter the next, unclear where she should attempt to moor herself.

She opens her mouth to answer him, but before she can say anything there's movement on the upper landing.

"Dad?" Alexis voice echoes off the hard surfaces, bouncing down the glass and metal staircase to greet them.

"Make yourself at home," Castle tells Kate quietly. "This'll just take a moment."

He briefly touches her arm as he passes between the kitchen and the stairwell, leaving her to fend for herself while he attends to his daughter.

Kate watches as he climbs up to the second floor while Alexis looks down at her over the balustrade. The girl finally offers her a flicker of a smile and a half-mast wave just before her father reaches her. Her hair is slung over one shoulder in a thick braid that rests heavily against the floral jacket of her mauve pajamas making her look younger and much less influential than Kate knows her to be. Alexis turns away from staring at Kate to face her dad once he is right in front of her and can no longer be ignored.

Kate accepts Castle's offer of the freedom to roam in his home. Leaving father and daughter to their private conversation, she heads over to the kitchen. Her fingers lightly trail across the lid of the black gift box containing her freshly signed copy of _Heat Rises_ as she passes the central island en route to the coffee machine. She can hear the low murmuring of voices in the hallway above while she busies herself checking the filter, adding freshly ground beans, filling the glass jug with water and topping off the reservoir, before finally switching the machine on to brew.

She's sitting on one of the kitchen stools awaiting the automatic beep that will signal that their coffee is ready when Castle comes back downstairs looking more exhausted than when he went up.

* * *

"Problem?" asks Kate, swiveling on the stool to watch him as he heads straight to the cabinet to lift down two mugs.

He shakes his head tiredly, his back turned to her, obscuring his face from view. "Nothing I can't fix."

The words are intended to dismiss the issue, to sound confident and final, but they are delivered with a heavy heart. Just one more problem to add to his teetering pile or so it sounds.

Kate bites her lip, fingers silently drumming the countertop while she works up the nerve to speak. "Castle, would you sit for a second?"

He glances over his shoulder at her, then back towards the stairs. "Not here," he says, his voice lower than normal. "Let me pour the coffee and I'll join you in the study. Why don't you go wait for me in there?" he suggests, softening the serious lines on his face with a tilt of his head and the trace of a smile.

Kate pauses, deciding whether or not to argue with him, and then she taps the lid of the gift box twice, making up her mind to put no more strain on her partner than he already seems to be under.

"Sure. See you in there." She stands and half turns away before turning back again. "Is it okay if I just—?" Kate gestures towards the guest bathroom.

"Yes, of course. Go ahead. In fact, use my en suite if you want. I meant it when I said make yourself at home, Kate. You don't have to ask."

Kate offers a wan smile in return and then she heads towards the study and the interlinking door to Castle's bedroom where she knows his en suite to be.

She doesn't linger in the quiet coolness of his bedroom. As a trained cop, of course she takes in many details of her surroundings – the rich, dark, masculine décor, muted colors, luxury fabrics and finishes covering every surface. But she does this automatically. She doesn't want to pry. Something about Alexis is troubling him and she can wager a pretty good guess as to what the problem is. Or rather _who_ the problem is. So she moves straight for the bathroom, leaving Castle's privacy intact.

Her face looks a little flushed when she checks her reflection in the mirror, healthy, and her eyes sparkle more than they have in a long time. He's good for her. Honesty, plain speaking, asking for what you really want in life: it's becoming apparent that these things are good for her too, if the glow she's currently exhibiting is any reflection of her inner self. Of course she could simply pass it off as the red wine they had with dinner or the exertion and fresh air on their brisk walk back, but then she would be lying again – to herself and to Castle – and she's through with lying for good, if she can avoid it.

* * *

The study is still empty when she emerges from the bathroom, passing back through the unlit bedroom to get there. She trails her fingers over Castle's desk, touching the various collectible toy figures he has ranged around the polished surface like a protection detail. She deliberately avoids the temptation of his sleeping laptop; the faint line of white light telling her that the computer's power is still on. Like Sleeping Beauty waiting for her Prince Charming, she knows she could awaken the laptop's screen and reveal its contents with just the merest touch. A little bump, a nudge or an accidental jolt is all it would take. But she chooses to take a seat on the sofa below the window instead and wait for him, amusing herself with the nighttime view of SoHo as the minutes tick quietly by.

She can see into an apartment building across the street, a young woman sitting on a sofa by herself just like Kate, the cold, blue glow of a television screen illuminating her face to reveal a sad, distant expression that immediately reads like loneliness to the initiated; the initiated like Kate Beckett. She is about to examine the scene more carefully, hoping to find clues that will blew her lonely and alone theory apart, when she hears footfalls getting closer across the wooden floor.

Castle apologizes immediately upon entering the room. "Hey. Sorry that took so long." He comes over to the desk bearing a tray with two mugs of coffee and a plate of cookies.

Kate waves his apology away with a dismissive waft of her hand and a shake of her head. "Turnabout is fair play," she says sardonically, offering up a wry smile. "About time I waited for you."

"Right," murmurs Castle, giving her a tight, distracted smile in return, either missing her self-deprecating joke or dismissing it out of hand.

"_So_…what's going on with Alexis?" she bravely asks, watching him divert attention by fussing over the plate of cookies and the placement of the coffee mugs on a low table beside the sofa to steal a few more seconds thinking time.

"Huh?" he mumbles, glancing up and down with equal haste, his head behaving like a rowboat bobbing on a choppy pond.

"Would you sit? _Please?_" asks Kate, patting the sofa cushion next to her.

Castle looks at her, chews on his lip and then stares down at the tray again. "Sorry. I'm— Of course I'll sit. Cookie?"

"Rick," sighs Kate, leveling him with a determined stare.

"Look, we just went for dinner," he shrugs, _actually_ shrugging off her concern as if it's nothing and she wouldn't understand anyway; as if she is some blind date he just met.

Kate nods, silently taking in his avoidance, detesting his underlying motivation, knowing that she is the root cause of his lack of desire to share this problem, to be open. So she decides to take a different tack.

"Did you mean what you said in the inscription?" she asks, taking a sip of hot coffee, realizing when the question is halfway out of her mouth that her knee is bouncing nervously and her fingers are clenched around the blue and white mug just a little too tightly while she awaits his answer.

"Of course," he replies immediately, without any evasion or prevarication this time.

"Then we didn't _just_ go to dinner, Castle. So,_ talk_ to me."

But he isn't backing down, not even with this pointed reminder: you love me and I love you, so share.

"I said I'll fix it. Don't worry," he murmurs, burying his face in his own cup of coffee.

Kate can see the tension in the muscles of Castle's face, even as the steam from his mug rises up to curl around his features, blurring them softly. "Would you stop brushing me off? _Please?_" she asks, determined to be given the chance to help _him_ with a problem for once, especially given her part in the creation of said problem.

Castle levels her with a look – disbelief and incredulity both. An after-image of humor is blended into the mix for good measure, though if you knew this man less profoundly than Kate Beckett, it would be easy to miss.

"You're _seriously_ telling _me_ not to brush you off?"

Kate knows exactly what he's getting at, but she chooses not to take the bait. She just nods.

"Kate, you are the _master_ at brushing people off. So, if I am, maybe it's because I learned the technique from you."

"Fair point. But we've moved on. At least I hope we're in the process of moving on, and I'd like to help."

"You really want to help? With my daughter?"

"Of course. I've helped you in the past when you've needed advice. Why are you shutting me out this time?"

"You know why." His tone is grim and determined.

"Because her problem is with me."

Castle makes no gesture or facial expression to show that Kate is bang on the money, he just moves straight on to obstinate reassurance. "She'll come round in time."

"And what if she doesn't?"

Kate's fear is real. Alexis is old enough to know how her dad feels about her. She was there when he tried to save her from the sniper, and she was also there to witness every miserable day that Kate ignored her partner, leaving him to pine and wallow in misery for weeks on end, unable to write and God only knows what else. She doubts forgiveness will come swiftly from Castle's daughter, and she's not even sure how long it will take before she has done enough atoning to deserve it.

"Not an option."

Kate shakes her head at Castle's stubborn, head-in-the-sand response. "I don't want to come between you. The relationship you two have...it's special and it's rare. Believe me, I know."

"You won't. I'll make sure of that. Look, she has her own life. She has to see that I need to have mine too."

His support makes her feel stronger, but no less guilty.

"Sounds like your mind is made up. Sure you don't want me to talk to her…try to explain?"

Castle shakes his head. "I've invested a lot in this relationship over the years. Enough to know that what we _could_ have is worth working for. Alexis will understand eventually."

* * *

Kate releases a long, slow breath, steadily blowing a lungful of air out between her lips. She feels a new contentment, an ease seep into her skin as she does so, relaxing her muscles and coursing through her bloodstream. The entire sensation is accentuated by a sudden, deep swelling of optimism.

"It's good to hear you say that."

"Doesn't mean I've forgotten what you did, Kate."

Castle adds this caveat immediately, lest she think he is a pushover or that what she did to him doesn't matter anymore. His eyes flash with determination and a warning maybe, but the snapped remark takes him far more effort than it would anyone else, given what she did to him. And she can see how much he hates to reprimand, how much he detests showing his disappointment in anyone, let alone in her.

She emits another sigh, this time less restful. "I know," she murmurs, her voice kept low in the stillness of the study, her tone contrite.

There is an awkward pause where the silence in the loft seems to rise up like a black beast, squeezing into the study to fill the small space between them on the sofa.

"I know I have to earn your trust and…and prove to you that I'm ready to deepen the relationship we already have."

She watches and she waits, her dark eyes focused on his face, pupils dilated like black holes, sparks of golden light ringing each iris as if the big bang occurred right there; the beginning of time all over again.

"I missed you so much, Kate. You have no idea," Castle confesses, dragging his eyes up from the floor to stare at her, his expression heartbreakingly open, slightly panicked, a picture of complete honesty and tragic self-defeat.

"I won't be this stupid again. I promise," she tells him, setting her mug aside to move closer to him on the sofa.

Castle drops his head to Kate's shoulder, allowing himself this moment of weakness, allowing her to see how badly hurt he still feels, despite everything. Kate wraps her arms around him, lifting her feet from the floor and tipping her knees onto his lap until she comes to rest, giving and receiving comfort in what might be the most balanced moment of their relationship yet.

It takes courage to make yourself vulnerable, to admit when you're wrong and say sorry, to ask for a second chance. Kate Beckett, brave though she may be in certain areas of her life, is only now finding the courage to risk her heart and ask for that second chance.

* * *

A few quiet moments pass in which the drift of time is marked out by the twin beat of their hearts. When Kate begins to feel Castle's breathing even and slow and his warm body list more heavily against hers, she knows that it is time for her to leave.

Pressing her lips to Castle's hair, she eases herself back until he begins to stir. "Rick, it's late," she whispers, so as not to startle him. "I should go."

Castle immediately comes to. He clears his throat and rubs his face before he stands, and though there is a flicker of resistance in his eyes, he makes no verbal protest. "See you at the precinct tomorrow?"

Kate stands too, the weight of her partner a glorious, sensual memory, the fragrant heat of his body still leaching through her clothing to warm her skin.

"I'd love that. Of course I'd love that. But what about Paula and your writing? Shouldn't you—"

Castle reaches out to caress Kate's cheek, letting his sleepy gaze trace the same path as his fingers. His gesture is completely natural, uncalculated and performed without permission, though neither of them seems to mind. In fact, if the warm bloom of color on Kate's cheeks is anything to go by, his touch is a more than welcome addition to their gentle, tentative, careful behavior towards one another this evening.

"My inspiration is back," he shrugs, handing her the gift box containing his novel. "Would be a shame not to capitalize on that…keep topping it up," he adds more brightly, arching his eyebrows for effect.

Kate grins, delighted, before shyly dipping her head. "Okay then. Precinct it is," she says, glancing up to beam at him, her excitement plain to see.

They walk to the door together. Castle helps Kate on with her leather jacket, watching jealously as she flicks her hair out from beneath the collar without his aid, soft curls bouncing and sliding back into place, their coppery sheen reflecting the light.

Her face is bright, her eyes lit by a hopeful radiance when she stretches up on tiptoe to place a soft, lingering kiss right by the side of his mouth.

Castle's hand flies up of its own accord to cover the site where her lips have just branded his skin. He presses four splayed fingers flat across the juncture between his lips and cheek, as if doing so will trap the sensation there for all eternity. It's not much as kisses go, but it comes from a place of new possibility, a place where their future waits for them: a gift wrapped up in ribbon, sent care of the universe, set aside on a high shelf until they were wise enough to recognize and appreciate its value.

"Until tomorrow?" asks Kate, already halfway out the door.

"You bet. Text when you get home."

She calls instead.

_TBC..._


	13. Chapter 13 - Epilogue

_A/N: As I often say at the end of a story, thank you for your company and support on this journey. It means a lot that so many people have sufficient faith in my writing to read along with me as I write and publish each chapter. I hope you felt that your investment was returned with interest. Liv_

_Note: This story assumes that the drama began with the book signing, which I chose to time for the end August._

* * *

**Chapter 13: Epilogue**

_Six months later..._

"Richard Castle, what _are_ you _wearing_?" squeals Kate, doubling over in a riot of helpless heehawing laughter.

She snorts and then quickly covers her mouth with both hands, eyes wide in horrified mortification at the involuntary noise she just made. But she has to gasp for air as she continues to watch Castle swagger towards her across the bedroom floor dressed in a neon yellow pair of men's stretch ski pants, a black balaclava and…nothing else.

He crosses the room playing more like a cowboy in a Western than a half-naked man strutting around his own bedroom in bare feet and a highly flammable polyester/nylon mix. Black suspenders dangle down the outside of each thigh making him look like a fireman on a shout, somehow caught short of the rest of his bunker gear. Actually, the bare chest and the fireman image is kind of doing it for Kate, but she has no chance to tell him that before he scoops her up and dumps her on the bed, bouncing with her on the well-sprung mattress until they both collapse in a giggling, exhausted, breathless heap.

Castle traps her beneath him, straddling her slim hips with his thighs (and thank God for stretch polyester) to immobilize her, arms pinioned above her head for extra restraint. The fabric of his ski pants rasps and wheezes against the black jeans Kate is wearing, the sound making this moment all the more comical. She squirms against Castle's firm grip when twin tears of laughter leak out the side of her eyes and head for her hairline, desperate to free her hands to wipe them away.

"What's my safe word again?" she frowns, trying hard to remember for herself. But she grins the second she hears Castle emit a dramatic sigh of frustration.

"Kate, we talked about this."

"I _know_," she whines, wriggling even harder to break free, though she knows that with the writer pinning her down like this, with all his body weight on top of her, she has minimal chance of breaking away. Anyway, it's quite fun to be overtaken by Richard Castle; one of the many things she's learned can be fun over the last six, eventful months. "But you use yours so much more than I do and apples is _really_ easy to remember."

"No way are we sharing a safe word. Anyway, I'm sure that's against the rules."

Kate goes limp, her futile struggle forgotten. "Rules? What rules?"

Castle pauses for a second, weighing up whether he actually _heard_ that somewhere or if he's going to have to simply make something up. He's a writer, so it's not that big of a stretch to invent a convincing reply. Problem is, with Kate being a detective his made up stories now have a habit of being debunked pretty quickly. He's still not used to this challenge to his storytelling abilities. For example, it took Alexis a couple of years before she figured out that the moon wasn't made of ice and only came out at night to avoid being melted by the sun. To be fair, she was only two and a half when he first told her this fabulous fact, so...

"The uh…rules of—"

"Oh, cut it out," laughs Kate, flipping him over on the bed before he can even conjure a convincing answer, thus gaining the element of surprise.

She watches him grin up at her now that he's the one lying on his back on their bed.

_Their bed._

She repeats this thought inside her head, still startled by the speed at which everything developed between them once they really got started. Sure, she went home to pick up some things this morning, but by and large she spends all of her time at the loft – evenings, _mornings_, weekends off or on call. And it's heaven: having someone to share her life with, to create a life with. She never realized how lonely she was and how empty her life outside of work actually was until they started to deepen their relationship, spending most of their days and nights together.

The phone call the night she left the loft after their first dinner date at Raoul's had been a major catalyst, when she thinks back. They had parted shyly, tentatively, the echo of Alexis' displeasure hovering between them like a dark shadow. Castle had asked Kate to text when she got home safely, but she had picked up the phone instead, determined to keep them moving forward now that some preliminary progress has been made.

* * *

_Six months earlier..._

Kate recalls that phone call now.

"_Hey, it's me."_

His voice, she remembers even today, was still alert, no hint of the dusty dry scrape of sleep to his tone. No trace of alcohol either, which in itself was a great relief._ "Hey."_

"_You okay?"_

"_Uh…yeah. So you got home all right?"_

Kate didn't immediately answer his question. She focused instead on his hesitation, her detective's intuition at play._ "Why the pause? What's wrong?"_

"_Nothing's wrong."_

"_Castle," _she had said in a warning tone.

"_What?"_

"_I thought you wanted this? I thought we both did."_

"_I do." His reply had been emphatic, but slightly flat. No joy or excitement to these defining words._

"_Then why don't you sound happier? Why aren't we happy, Castle?"_

Her note of panic had been countered by his puzzled, somber calm.

"_You're not happy?"_

"_I'm…I'm relieved, I guess. But—"_

"_Relieved?" _He had said the word as if it were a curiosity, something left in the wrong place; it lay like a hard, heavy pebble in his mouth.

"_That you still love me, that you didn't close the door in my face, that…that we get to go back to work tomorrow…together."_

"_Of course I still love you. I never stopped."_

"_But you're still angry."_

"_Those are two different things, Kate. You need to understand that. Just because I'm mad at—"_

"_I hate that you're mad at me." _She winced as her confession reverberated in the space between them; at how pathetic she sounded, how childish.

Castle had actually laughed at her then. Laughed.

"_What_?" she had asked, indignantly._ "Why are you laughing at me?"_

"_Because you're funny, and I love you, and thank you."_

"_For what?"_

"_For making me laugh for the first time in months."_

"_I don't think I like this."_

"_What don't you like?"_

"_Richard Castle laughing at me."_

"_I've laughed at you before."_

Kate remembers letting out a long sigh, letting everything go. Being honest was so much easier on the phone, but she knew she had to find a way to be this open with him when they were face-to-face too._ "I want to laugh __**with**__ you."_

There had been a silent pause on the writer's end, and Kate had lifted the phone away from her ear to check that the line was still live. But then Castle had mirrored her sigh and she knew he was still with her, still there, still listening._ "I'd like that too. Tell me how you want tomorrow to work?" _he had asked, moving them on.

"_Eh…just…be your normal self, I guess."_

She could hear his grin when he had said,_ "So…no handholding in the precinct, no kiss when I meet you at a crime scene. What about dinner? Can I buy you dinner tomorrow night?"_

Kate remembers smiling then, smiling at the warmth in his voice, at the picture he was painting for her, and at the possibilities his request held open for them._ "How about this. How about you come over to my apartment after work, you kiss me when you arrive, you hold my hand all the way to the dining table, and then you let me make dinner for you instead?"_

"_All my dreams rolled into one," _he had replied, the humor in his tone unmissable, even though she couldn't see his face.

"_No, that would be after," _Kate had replied coyly, a warmth like molten honey slicking her voice.

"_Ah, dessert," _Castle had responded, his tone happy and light, though lacking the sensual flirtation of Kate's.

"_If that's what you want to call it. But I prefer just to call it sex," _Kate had countered, biting down on her lip as she awaited his reaction to her boldest move yet.

"_Are…are you even cleared for that?" _Castle had spluttered out, before immediately adding,_ "I'm sorry. Kate, I am so sorry. That's was the dumbest thing I think I've ever said."_

Kate's hand had been pressed over her scar when she replied._ "No, I'm sure I can think of dumber. And yes, I had to pass a physical before I came back to work."_

Castle had remained silent for a beat or two, drowning in his own vat of gaucheness. When he finally spoke, his voice was as serious and earnest as an act of contrition._ "Can we start over?" _

Kate had cleared her throat and then she has smiled to herself._ "Say yes to dinner first."_

Castle's reply had been instant and without any hesitation._ "Yes. I'd love to."_

"_Then we just started over. Oh, and Castle," _she had said before ending the call._ "Don't forget to pack your toothbrush."_

* * *

Castle jolts her out of her reminiscence and back to the present when he wriggles beneath her and the fabric of his shockingly vivid pants makes a papery shushing sound to accompany the impatient movement of his thighs.

"Ha! My safe word is _coffee_," declares Kate, slapping the mattress close to his head.

Castle frowns. "I thought it was cherries."

"I changed my mind. Woman's prerogative. Anyway, coffee is _way_ better."

"Better how? You say coffee like…five or six times a day…at least."

Kate laughs.

"No, seriously. I arrive at the Precinct empty handed and the first thing out of your mouth is not _'Good morning, darling.'_ It's _'Castle, where's my coffee?'_ So what am I supposed to think when you're yelling out 'coffee' in the throws of passion? Huh?"

"Well, first of all, if you'll permit me a moment to break down your ridiculous little scenario. _A_: I would never, and I mean _never ever_, call you darling at the Precinct. Or anywhere else for that matter."

Castle pouts at this disappointing news, his features protruding pudgily through the oval opening in his black balaclava. Kate manages to merely smirk at his little boy antics and move right along.

"Second of all, what would you think I meant if I called out 'coffee' in the middle of us having sex? That I actually wanted to _stop_ for a cup of coffee? Or that I was using my safe word?"

Castle actually appears to be pondering her question.

"Come on, think about it," chuckles Kate, lightly slapping his bare chest. "Have I _ever_ asked you to pause for a caffeine break in the six months we've been doing the dirty?"

This is Castle's cue to laugh – a hearty, happy boom of a sound that rips free of his chest, surprising even Kate, allowing him to topple her off his hips and onto the mattress alongside him.

"Doing the _dirty_?" he asks, his voice high and squeaky with amusement.

"Fine. Making love," amends Kate. "Happy now?"

They lie side-by-side, grinning at one another like silly, giddy little kids. Kate's cheeks are flushed pink with bashfulness, love, affection and exertion. She looks so beautiful that Castle can't bear to tear his gaze away from her.

"I love you, you know," he blurts, reaching out to brush a tangle of curls off her warm cheek.

"Ditto, Mr. Castle," replies Kate, fiddling with one of the elastic suspenders on Castle's ski pants.

She tells him she loves him all the time now, with actual words. It still feels like a punch to the solar plexus to hear her say it though, to look into her eyes and see just how much she means it, that she feels it just as overwhelmingly as he does.

* * *

He looks at her now - a ridiculous sight with the ski mask still on - his bright blue eyes dancing with mischief. "Tell me again how you wanted me so badly after you saw me at the book signing that you just had to come running?"

Kate looks startled, but amused. "Can you paraphrase _actual_ events? I mean, is that even _possible_?"

Castle taps his chin, pretending to ponder the question. "Hmm. Let me think about that."

"Well, let me help you. The answer must be _yes_, since you're doing it right now."

"Come on, Beckett. You wanted me badly. You told me so yourself when you turned up at my door late at night and—"

"It was just after ten, I'd hardly call that—"

Castle laughs right in her face. "The timing? That's what you're going to quibble over here?"

"I'm not quibbling over anything," she tells him, defensively.

"Great," nods Castle, tugging playfully on the waistband of her jeans. "Then we're in agreement. You wanted me so badly that you—"

"Would you _stop_ saying that?" she whisper-hisses, glancing down the bed towards the open door to the study.

"Afraid of the truth, Beckett?"

"_No._ More like afraid your daughter will hear."

"Ah, so you agree that it _is_ the truth?" counters Castle, eyes alight with the triumph of his gotcha moment.

"Whatever," grumbles Kate, shoving on his chest so that he rolls backwards away from her, looking utterly ridiculous with his head still encased in black fleece.

"We can _all _hear you, darling," rings out Castle's mother's cultured voice.

"_See?!_" hisses Kate, burying her face in the comforter just as Martha taps on the doorframe, announcing her physical presence in the entryway to the bedroom.

"Oh, dear God, Richard. What are _those_ and why aren't you packed already?" asks Martha, having the audacity to point and gawp at Castle's lurid yellow pants, given her own sartorial crimes, which now span two centuries.

Kate sniggers, muffling the traitorous sound with the thick down of a throw pillow, while Castle hops off the bed to glare at his mother, leaving Kate bouncing queasily on the mattress.

"We were having a moment, okay? Or should I expect _no_ privacy around here? Hmm? In my own home?"

Martha ignores her son's less than subtle question and motors right on. "The flight to Denver leaves in three hours and you're not even packed, darling. Chop chop!" she adds, clapping her hands before backing out of the bedroom muttering, "And for goodness sake put on some proper clothes. We're not flying coach."

* * *

As soon as his mother has left them alone, Kate sits up and then eases herself off the bed to come and stand beside her partner.

She leans in close to grin against his neck, the skin warm and smooth and enticingly fragranced after his morning shave. "For what it's worth, I kind of love those pants," she whispers, gently kissing the soft skin of his throat.

"You do?" he asks, turning to face her in surprise. His large hands fall to brace on her waist, dwarfing its narrow span in a way that still makes Kate's heart pound mercilessly in her chest.

"_Mm-hmm_," she nods, giving him a slow-blossoming, sex-laden smile.

"What if I told you I'm not wearing anything underneath?" he whispers back, drawing her into a deep, stirring kiss.

"I'll need to gather more evidence before I can sign off on that," giggles Kate, grinning into the kiss as she slips her hand down the front of the mercifully roomy pants to seek the evidence she speaks of.

Castle gasps and stiffens. In fact, pretty much everything stiffens when her palm and fingers contract around him.

Kate opens her mouth, teasing Castle's lips apart with the wet intrusion of her tongue, and then she hums with pleasure as the weight and heft of his hardening length continues to rise up and fill her palm.

"Dad, have you seen my…ski boots? _Oh god!_"

Alexis pauses in the doorway that Martha was remiss enough to leave ajar, her arms suddenly wrapped around her head to cover her eyes.

Kate and Castle freeze like statues. Thankfully the writer's considerably broad back is turned towards the door, so the chance of Alexis actually witnessing what they are up to is zero. However, what she might _imagine_ they are up to is a whole other matter.

"Uh…sorry. I didn't—" She stutters, her eyes cast down towards the floor. Her usually pale face is now a scorching match for the color of her hair.

Kate uses this moment of toe-curling embarrassment to liberate her hand from Castle's pants and step out of his shadow to address his daughter. "Hey, no harm done. Nearly packed?" she asks brightly, allowing Castle a second or two to collect himself before turning around.

"Yeah, I uh—"

Alexis' gaze swings from Kate's look of total innocence to the back of her father's head. "Dad, I can't find my ski boots." She frowns as her father finally turns to face her, his cheeks an unexpected shade of pink. "What are _those_?" she asks, pointing at the fireman/ski pants with a look of utter teenage horror. "What happened to your black ones?"

"Just felt like a change," Castle mutters, looking the most uncomfortable person in the room by far.

"Change back," insists Alexis, letting her eyes slide to Kate's, urging her to provide a little backup on the subject.

"Maybe Alexis is right," Kate suggests, wincing inwardly even as she says these disloyal words.

"_Right?_" balks Castle, turning hurt eyes on Kate, as if he can't believe her betrayal.

"Yeah," she smiles uneasily. "I just mean, didn't you say your ski jacket is turquoise? Black and turquoise would go so much better than that…that neon yellow color," she adds, gesturing towards the gaudy, eye-watering fabric.

"They're _chartreuse_," insists Castle, his features contorted by indignation through the opening in his balaclava.

"Exactly!" agrees Alexis, nodding her head vigorously. "Which is designer shorthand for _garish_."

"I don't think I like this," grumbles Castle, glancing between his sniggering daughter and his amused partner.

"Too late now, dad," grins Alexis, as Kate bites her lip to prevent herself from laughing at the disappointed look on poor Castle's face.

Kate can tell he's feigning his dismay at the camaraderie between his child and his partner, all for effect. He's secretly delighted at the close relationship that has evolved between the two women over the last six months. While it wasn't easy to begin with, and Alexis took a long time to warm up to Kate, the detective's persistence with both father and daughter paid off in the end, culminating in the trip they're about to make today.

"Right, how about I come help you look for those ski boots while we leave your dad to finish packing?" asks Kate, smiling when the redhead nods her agreement. "Okay, give me a couple of minutes and I'll be right out."

* * *

She lets Alexis leave the room first, before Kate collapses against Castle with an embarrassed groan the second they are alone.

"Well, that was close," mutters Castle, appearing to be still somewhat in shock.

Kate straightens up and then she turns to face him with a hungry grin, easing both black suspenders up over Castle's bare arms and onto shoulders.

"Make sure you pack these," she tells him, pulling one of the elastic straps and letting it go so that it snaps back against his right nipple.

"_Ow!_ I thought you wanted me to take the black pair?" Castle frowns in confusion, rubbing at his poor, abused nipple.

"Oh, I do. Pack _those_ for the slopes and _these_," she grins gleefully, tugging on the other strap as if it's a catapult she's about to let go, "for the bedroom."

"_Really?_" asks Castle, managing to prevent further nipple damage by inserting his hand beneath the suspender before Kate lets it twang.

"Mm-hmm," she nods, with a gleam in her eye. "We will have our own private bedroom, right?" she adds, just to make sure. "With actual walls and locks on the doors?"

"Of course. We have a whole floor to ourselves. But what brought this on?"

"I may have been watching an episode of _Chicago Fire_ last night and—" She bites her lip coyly as she gives him a head-to-toe perusal, dragging her eyes across his naked torso and then down over his fluro-yellow clad hips and legs.

"_And?_" prompts Castle, when Kate's gaze remains stuck near his crotch. (The fabric is slightly voluminous in this area. Either that or Castle is still just a little too excited).

"What?" she asks blankly, before giving her head a little shake. "Oh, sorry, _and_ these pants kind of say _'Chicago Fire Department, call out!'_" she giggles, before slapping him on the ass and hurrying out of the bedroom to find Alexis.

* * *

_Later that same day…_

"Where did you say we were going again?"

"Denver. We're flying to Denver. Pay attention, Detective," Castle scolds, accepting a glass of champagne from the stewardess hovering with a tray in the aisle beside his seat.

Kate takes a glass of bubbles as well, giving Martha and Alexis, who are seated in their own little pods across the aisle from them, a silent, mouthed toast. She takes a sip while watching the last of the passengers struggle through the business class cabin en route to coach.

"I know we're going to Denver. I wouldn't let you take me out of state without being sure where we were headed. I meant what's the name of the resort we'll be skiing in?"

"Loveland."

Kate turns to give Castle a look, choking on her first mouthful of champagne in the process, as bubbles rush straight to her nose. She coughs, dislodging the fine droplets of liquid coating her throat.

"_Seriously?_" she gulps, wiping her lips with a tiny, square cocktail napkin.

Castle grins and nods slowly, as if he's been waiting weeks for the chance to utter that one single word. _Loveland._

"Seriously. We are headed to _Loveland_, Colorado, Beckett."

"Miss, this flight _is_ headed to Denver, not…not Las Vegas by any chance?" Kate asks the passing stewardess.

The woman pauses by their seats, a look of concern on her face. "No, ma'am. If you were hoping to fly to Las Vegas you'd better get off fast. We're about to close the doors."

"No, no it's fine. Denver is just fine," she assures the woman with a tight, forced smile.

She turns to look at Castle once the stewardess has mosied on her way. "Of _all_ the ski resorts in the United States and Canada…you just had to pick this one."

Castle grins.

"Is that why the boys were sniggering behind my back yesterday?"

"I didn't tell them."

"_Castle_," warns Kate, giving him a hard stare.

"Okay, but they asked. What could I do?"

"Tell them anything. Anything else but…_Loveland_," she says, frowning as if the word puts a peculiar taste in her mouth.

"Relax, Kate. They know this is a family trip. Javi even asked about the spa treatments my mother has booked."

"And you didn't find that strange? _Javi?_ Oh, we are going to get so much shit when we get back," she groans, downing the rest of her champagne in one.

* * *

They arrive at the Saxon Mountain Lodge in Georgetown, Colorado, a little over six hours later. The private ski chalet is beautiful, secluded, and just 12 miles from the fabulous ski runs of Loveland. They do indeed have a whole floor to themselves, complete with balcony overlooking the snow-clad mountain and a spacious hot tub that is just begging to be filled up and turned on.

Later that night, after Martha and Alexis have gone to bed, Castle lights the wood fire in their top floor suite, while Kate fills the hot tub and lights a choir of candles. They undress quickly, slipping into the steaming hot water together before the cold night air can raise goose bumps on their skin. Castle settles with his back to the wall of the tub, while Kate slips down between his legs, letting her back gently come to rest against his chest.

"So, I kept my promise," he murmurs, flicking her ear with his tongue.

Kate shivers at the intimate sensation, wrapping her fingers round Castle's thighs to stop herself from slipping deeper under the bubbling water. "Which promise is that?" she asks in a low voice, stroking his calf muscle with her toes.

"To ease you in gently."

She smiles, the memory of his promise instantly rushing back. "Ah, yes. Our first Castle family vacation. I remember."

"Seems a world ago. That night."

"It does, doesn't it."

"Been a fast six months."

"No kidding. You met my dad." Kate grins, remembering Castle's hand, sweaty and trembling in hers all the way to the restaurant.

"I did. And then we got caught having sex by mom."

Kate groans, and then she turns to flick water in Castle's face. "Please, don't remind me. That's a day I'd pay not to relive."

"Actually, I don't think I'd change a thing," Castle muses, pressing his lips to the smooth curve of Kate's glistening, bare shoulder.

"Have you ever wondered what would have happened if you hadn't killed off Derrick Storm and Harrison Tisdale hadn't been greedy enough to copy your books?"

"You mean would we still have met?"

"Mmm," hums Kate, reaching for her glass of champagne.

"I...I would like to hope."

"But you're not sure?"

"If I tell you I think we were fated, is there any chance you wouldn't mock me as...as deluded or a total fantasist?"

"Not a hopeless romantic?" suggests Kate, turning her head to press a kiss to his jaw.

"That's what you're accusing me of? Being a hopeless romantic?"

"If the cap fits, Castle," she teases, delicately brushing his mouth with her smile.

"Then guilty as charged. Are you disappointed?"

Kate frowns with her lips still hovering against his cheek. "Why?"

"That I'm so..._predictable_?"

"I don't think you've ever disappointed me. Surprise me, yes. You always manage to go above and beyond."

Castle puffs out his chest. "My personal motto: go big or—"

"Go home. Yeah, I know."

"Actually, I was going to say 'Go First Class'."

Kate laughs, and then she gestures at her partner with her champagne glass, dropping her head back to rest against his shoulder. "_See!_ Always unpredictable, always surprising, never boring."

Castle reaches for his own glass, raising it in a toast. "To us."

Kate clinks her crystal flute against the rim of Castle's, silently thinking _'yes, we made it', _before making a toast of her own.

"To Rick and Kate."

_The End_


End file.
